


Under the Snow

by JacobFlood



Series: The Gylhain-verse [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Attempted Murder, College of Winterhold - Freeform, Curses, Draugr, Gen, Mystery, Whistling Mine, Winterhold, excessive amounts of original characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacobFlood/pseuds/JacobFlood
Summary: Kureeth knows something is rotten in Whistling Mine. As the place's fortunes increase along with the rest of Winterhold, resentment builds and old tensions flame up. The bitter winds wail, the snowdrifts build, and in Skyrim, there's always something waiting just beneath . . .





	1. One Last Septim

**Author's Note:**

> The character of Masa is agender, hence the use of they/their pronouns.

 

It was always cold in Whistling Mine. Kureeth listened to the wind for a few heartbeats before opening his eyes, trying to build a picture of what the day would be like. He just had to get through one more day of work, then he could see Falin again. He heard then the sound of someone else moving around in their miner’s camp. He determined them as Masa, from the light but sure quality of the footsteps. The glow from last night’s resurrected fire flickered across his eyelids, and Kureeth opened his eyes.

“Morning,” said Masa. Smooth-voiced as ever, the Dunmer was crouched next to the fire, toasting a cluster of apples. Their long braid was already coiled up under a fur hat, against the cold. Everyone had learned quickly enough, over the month that Kureeth had been working there, that the large Argonian was not one for conversation. So Masa took no offense from Kureeth’s lack of a response as he rose and pulled on all the extra layers of fur he owned. Never enough to be warm, not as far north into Winterhold as they were.

When the apples were done, Masa tossed one towards Kureeth. He caught it with both hands and crunched his teeth through the skin, relishing the intense heat. The miners were well-fed—the owner, Astene, saw to that—but the fare was never exactly fit for a Jarl’s table. The pair ate in comfortable silence for a few moments before the newest miner started awake: Ursula.

Kureeth had felt a moment of selfish joy when Ursula had wandered in out of the snow a week prior. A new worker meant he wasn’t the newest anymore, meant that less attention would be paid to him, meant that he could slide closer to becoming part of the landscape. Ursula ran a hand through her short red hair and approached the fire. Her furs were grey and thick, but well-travelled. A Nord, but if she’d mentioned where she hailed from, Kureeth had not heard. He was certainly not about to pry.

“Thanks,” she said, when Masa tossed over her apple. She bounced the hot fruit from one hand to the other in quick motions. She was not of great height—indeed, she barely reached Kureeth’s shoulder—but he had noticed a solidity to her movements that indicated that she would not simply be bowled over. Skittish, but steadfast, had been his assessment, despite the slight contradiction in terms it entailed.

“What today?” Ursula asked Masa, for they were the overseer. They tugged away a loose hair and did not smile.

“Same as always,” they said. “Mine the iron. Smelt the iron. Stack the iron.”

“I ain’t smelted yet,” said Ursula, not looking up.

“And you won’t today,” replied Masa. “I haven’t got anyone to spare to show you how.”

“You could hire more—”

“Take it up with Astene, next time you’re in Winterhold,” said Masa, cutting her off. “I just make do with what I’m given.”

Their face now creased with a frown, the overseer clapped their hands twice. The other miners awoke and came to the fire with varying degrees of swearing against the cold.

Angrenor, wounded veteran of the Civil War. His work was slower than the others’, and Kureeth guessed he had been hired out of pity more than anything else. Ingarth, another Nord, with a shaggy dark hair and beard. His quick eyes made Kureeth uneasy, but so far he had neither done nor said anything untoward. Last up was Relbray, a Dunmer who talked more than the rest of them put together. His words and hands were fast, but not too fast for Kureeth to follow.

Masa tossed each of the newly risen miners an apple, then rummaged around for some bread. Fresh enough, but hard. Food rarely went off in the Mine, or indeed in all of Winterhold, the extreme cold halting the natural decay. Kureeth tucked his chunk of bread inside his furs. Later in the day, his body heat would have defrosted it enough to eat.

“Ingarth, you’re on the smelter,” said Masa. “There’s plenty left from yesterday that needs doing. The rest of you know where your veins are. Get to work.”

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed in repetitions. Kureeth mined the ore, his pickaxe cracking against the walls of Whistling Mine. Every now and then, Masa would come by, their arms folded close around them, to check on Kureeth’s progress. The Dunmer was hard to read, but Kureeth was fairly certain that in Masa’s case, no comment was a positive outcome.

The repetitions continued and Kureeth’s muscles ached through every fibre. As the day drew closer to its end, Masa appeared again.

“Go tell Ingarth to bring in what’s left,” they said. “He can finish up tomorrow.”

Kureeth gratefully leaned his pickaxe against the side of the mine. But this, unfortunately, was a situation in which he could not avoid speaking.

“Tomorrow is our day off,” he said.

Masa’s lips curled into a snarl. “Don’t know why Astene couldn’t have had you on rolling shifts. Stupid to let the mine lay empty for a whole day.”

Kureeth was silent, waiting. Masa frowned. “Well get out there and tell him anyway,” they said eventually.

Kureeth trod through the mine, trying to prepare himself for the weather outside. He began to feel the wind as he approached the entrance and hunched in on himself. The bitter gusts whipped at him as he emerged into the white snow of Winterhold. Immediately the chill was almost more than he could bear. It was several years now that he’d spent in Skyrim, and still he could not get used to the cold.

A windbreak had been set up, by order of the Archmage, but it was specifically for the guard posted there. The wooden structure jutted from the snow next to the road, and the guard inside—Kureeth had not yet gotten a handle on their names—gave him a wave. Kureeth returned it, and ducked into the tiny structure that surrounded the mine’s smelter.

Astene had commissioned it almost immediately after taking over the mine, some three years prior, recognising the impossibility of working for long hours in the freezing wind. The room was simple, however, a basic square that gave enough room to work the smelter and stack ore, but barely more than that. With two people, especially one of Kureeth’s large frame, the place quickly became cramped.

Kureeth felt the sweat forming under his furs as soon as he entered the smelting building. Ingarth stood shirtless and shovelling, though he halted immediately upon Kureeth’s entrance.

“Can’t tell whether it’s day or night in here,” said the Nord. He spat on the side of the smelter and it vanished with a quick sizzle. “I coulda been in here for weeks, far as I know.”

“Day’s done,” said Kureeth.

Ingarth grinned. “And tomorrow’s our day off, praise the Nine. Got any big plans?”

Kureeth shrugged and watched Ingarth wipe off the worst of the sweat with a rag, then don his furs, warmed next to the smelter.

“Me, I’m planning to get blind drunk,” said Ingarth. He braced himself for opening the door. “You’re more’n welcome to join.”

Kureeth shook his head in what he hoped was a respectful manner. He and his wife Falin had greater plans for their gold than losing it to drink.

* * *

 

There was no breakfast the next morning. Instead, when Kureeth awoke, Masa had left small pouches of gold in a circle around the dead fire. Kureeth took his and bundled his other possessions into a small sack. His gloves had been wearing thin—and in Whistling Mine, that was a shortcut to frostbite.

As he was packing, Relbray awoke. The Dunmer snatched at his own pay and counted it out with a sneer.

“Fucking Masa,” he said. “You know he’s getting paid more than twice as much as us? And what’s he doing to earn it?” He stood and looked hungrily for a moment at the other gold pouches. Then he looked at Kureeth and sighed. “You know Masa and Astene go way back? Before even the last fool to own this place pissed off.”

Kureeth had not known that, but he couldn’t figure how Relbray did either. He was certainly not the sort that either Masa or Astene would confide in. He heaved his bulk towards the mine opening and Relbray fell into step with him.

“Heading into Winterhold, then? Might keep you company if you don’t mind?” asked Relbray. Kureeth grunted an affirmative.

He heard movement behind them and turned to see Ursula catching up with them.

“Sure,” said Relbray. “Let’s make an expedition of it, then.”

Ursula flinched a little and positioned herself on Kureeth’s other side as the trio stepped into the snow. Relbray swore at the wind.

“Better get this over with then,” he said.

“If it weren’t for the wind . . .” said Ursula.

Relbray laughed. “Trust me, this place will still freeze your nose off even when it’s deadly still.” They started walking along the northward path but it wasn’t long before Relbray spoke again. “Doesn’t your tail get cold, Kureeth? Or are those scales keeping all the heat in?”

“No,” said Kureeth.

“To which question?” asked Relbray.

“Both,” said Kureeth.

“Are those burn marks on it?” asked Ursula. “If—if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Long story,” said Kureeth. Another life, with memories of hot blood and billowing fire. He kept walking.

* * *

 

Ursula faded away with a mumble as soon as they reached Winterhold town. Relbray stomped into The Frozen Hearth without a farewell. Kureeth, for his part, trod his way to Birna’s Oddments, in search of new gloves. His chest tensed a little as he considered just how much a good pair would cost.

Birna greeted him pleasantly despite a tiredness around her eyes. Kureeth stood on the other side of the counter and murmured, “I need some new gloves.”

Birna rummaged in a cupboard, muttering almost to herself. “For that size, you’d need—no, not those, don’t know why I even have those. Try these, or these.” She placed two pairs on the counter. Large and thick, though Kureeth’s coin purse was feeling lighter by the second.

The second pair fit, and Kureeth handed over the purse. Birna counted out the gold with practised finger movements while he tried not to develop a sweat under his furs. He flinched a little when Birna spoke.

“It’s not enough, even with the old gloves.”

Kureeth dug into his sack and pulled out his old iron gauntlets. Broken and repaired a dozen times over, he was half convinced they could have lasted until the end of this era and through into the next. A reminder of the days he and Falin had spent running security for one of Ri’saad’s Khajiiti caravans. He kept down a sigh and slid them across the counter.

Birna turned them over a few times, a small smile struggling around the edges of her mouth. Eventually, she lowered them with some reverence and slid one gold piece back towards Kureeth.

“That covers it,” she said. “People have a thing for gear that’s been proven.”

Kureeth tucked away the single gold piece and knew that he’d be grateful for his warm fingers, even if his dream of a house seemed further rather than closer with each day. Once back in the snow, he made tracks towards the College, to see his wife.

* * *

 

Falin’s first priority, after embracing her husband, was to get him a good meal. In the room that served as the College’s refectory, she slid across another plate and filled him in on recent happenings.

“. . . and Kara came through last week—some strange hooded woman with her—asking to borrow the Elder Scroll! I didn’t know we had one, I imagine the Dragonborn must have left it here for safekeeping before she left to . . . wherever. Vash—sorry, the Archmage—took the two of them up to his chambers. Onmund told me later that the armour they were wearing was from the Dawnguard. What could a bunch of vampire-hunters want with an Elder Scroll?”

The couple’s dynamic was such that Falin rarely expected any verbal answer to her questions. Kureeth just took another bite of meat, and kept listening.

“And there’s a new student,” said Falin, angling her voice a bit lower. “Says her name is Emelia, up from Cyrodiil. But there’s something a bit odd about her. Too pale, maybe.”

Falin caught Kureeth’s look and raised her palms out. “I know, I know, I’m not exactly bronzed myself, and Winterhold’s certainly no place to get a tan, but . . . you remember Antario?”

Kureeth nodded. An Altmer associate of theirs, who had travelled alongside them with the Dragonborn, during their fight against the Thalmor. An ex-Thalmor agent himself, Antario had lived, and probably would continue to live, a life of tension. Every time he woke up in the night, he would expect an assassin looming over his bed.

“That kinda tension,” continued Falin, flipping her hood back to reveal her small Bosmer ears, “it does something to you. I wouldn’t be surprised if Emelia was running from her own demons.”

Kureeth frowned and thought of Ursula. Something to mention later on, perhaps, when he had something more concrete to offer. Though he wouldn’t seek answers that weren’t his to find.

“And you shouldn’t feel bad about your pay,” said Falin. “I talked to the Jarl’s steward, Malur. He said we only need three hundred to get a plot of land, being Winterhold residents already.” She tapped gently at Kureeth’s side. “We’ve got half that already. I’m going to start learning enchanting from Sergius, going out on contracts with him. That should bring in a fair share of coin.”

Kureeth grunted, trying to encapsulate his feelings of disappointment tinged with the optimism that Falin never failed to inspire in him.

“How is the mine?” she asked.

“Cold,” he said. “And nobody gets along.”

Falin slid a little closer to him. “You know I’d get you something here, but they have a thing about non-mages.”

Kureeth shrugged. Work was work. He would take the one evening and night he would spend with Falin, take it and keep it close to his scales for the next week. That alone would keep him warmer than any expensive gloves could manage.


	2. Winter of Discontent

Kureeth did not dawdle on the morning he had to return to Whistling Mine. He and Falin had been apart before and survived, they could do so again. After they had said their farewells, he trod his way through the crisp snow back into Winterhold. The town was quiet at such an early hour, with only the footprints of the guard on duty breaking the crust of white.

However, as Kureeth passed The Frozen Hearth, its door opened and an Imperial woman in thick black furs stepped into the air. Astene Vellius, owner of Whistling Mine’s operations. She hailed Kureeth and unhurriedly fell into step with him.

“Heading out again, Kureeth,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind if I walk with you.”

“Of course not,” said Kureeth, reluctantly forming words for his employer. They kept walking, soon leaving the boundaries of the town.

“Nothing like a fresh Winterhold morning, hmm?” said Astene. “This place has really grown on me in the past three years, I can tell you that. Though it is pleasant to get into Windhelm now and again.” She laughed abruptly. “Not that it’s a great deal warmer down there.”

Kureeth had yet to develop a solid opinion of Astene in the month he’d been working in the mine. Their brief interactions, usually on her visits to check the mine was running smoothly, or meeting her by chance in Winterhold, showed her to be a canny businessperson, forthright when it mattered but not above gently mocking herself.

“How long has it been since you started with us now, Kureeth?” asked Astene.

Kureeth wondered again if she could read his thoughts in his expression as he said, “A month.”

“And, if you don’t mind, what impression have you gained of your fellow workers in that time?”

For some time there was no sound but the crunch of their boots through the snow. Kureeth considered the possibility that this question was some variety of test, designed to gauge his willingness to sell out or dig up dirt on his co-workers. Perhaps everything he would say would be passed on to Masa—if what Relbray had said about that relationship could be trusted. Regardless, he knew where his own morals stood. His silence appeared answer enough.

“Ah,” said Astene. “I understand completely. Though many of the others don’t share your convictions.”

Kureeth tried to restrain his internal guessing game. Astene was staying in The Frozen Hearth, it would be easy enough for her to observe or overhear the ramblings of the miners more prone to drink than him, even if Masa wasn’t passing on information. Relbray was a loudmouth, true, but Kureeth had no inkling as to what Ingarth or Angrenor were like when drunk. Perhaps they complained loudly about their work long into the night.

“Fortunately,” continued Astene, “I have heard nothing negative about you. Your work is to be commended. And yet you had no previous mining experience?”

It had been a long circuitous way from Argonia to Skyrim, and Kureeth had taken many jobs along his route. Still, he shook his head.

“Remarkable,” said Astene. “Masa would have told you this later today, but you might as well hear it from me—there is a new quicksilver vein in the rear chamber. I want you on it. There is no-one I trust more for such an important task.”

Kureeth knew better than to ask if this would mean a pay increase. Instead, he just nodded and mumbled a “Thank you.”

* * *

 

When Kureeth and Astene reached the mine, Masa was standing with arms folded near the entrance, a deep frown across their face. Kureeth thought he could hear raised voices coming from inside.

“Ingarth and Ursula are both late,” they said.

“Calm yourself,” said Astene. “There is enough time for them both to arrive yet. Besides, less people makes it easier for me to move around.”

The three of them headed inside to find Relbray trying to stop Angrenor advancing towards them.

“Just keep your voice down, for Azura’s sake,” the small dark elf was saying. But the huge yet wounded Nord was having none of it. He shook off Relbray and made the distance straight to Astene.

“Our—how do you spect us to live on what you’re givin us? Our pay’s a fuckin travesty,” he said.

Kureeth found himself stepping forward, ready to prevent violence, even though he agreed at heart with Angrenor. Astene nodded calmly.

“We are all going through tough times, it’s true,” she said.

“Don’t try an make this about you!” said Angrenor. “This is about us, livin in a damned hole in the ground.”

“I took a chance on you, Angrenor,” said Astene. “You assured me that your wound would not slow down your work, though I understand work had not been so easy for you to find back in Windhelm.”

Some of the wind seemed to go out of Angrenor. “That’s not . . .” he said. He struggled to suppress a coughing fit. “And I’m grateful, boss, that’s for sure. I haven’t let you down. I don’t think I have.”

“And yet you’re wasting everybody’s time with your yelling,” said Astene. Angrenor opened his mouth but Astene kept talking. “If you have issues with how this operation is run, come and speak to me on your day off. For now . . . there is work to be done, is there not?”

She looked off to the side for a moment, towards the makeshift camp. She darted across and returned with a loaf of bread. Kureeth noticed that Relbray was looking a little jittery. Astene broke the bread and handed half to Angrenor. After she gestured, the Nord took a bite as she did.

“See?” she said, after swallowing. “Civil discourse is the only way to move forward.”

Kureeth spun at some sounds behind him. Ursula and Ingarth were entering the mine.

“Now that everyone’s here,” said Astene, “the real work of the day get going.” She tossed her bitten bread to Masa, who caught it with a frown. “You all know what you should be doing,” their boss said as she exited.

“What the hell did we just miss?” asked Ingarth, after Astene was out of earshot.

“Forget it,” said Masa. “You heard her.”

Angrenor was biting into the rest of his bread with savagery. Relbray’s jitters had vanished. Kureeth noticed a burn-mark up Ursula’s sleeve that he was sure hadn’t been there the day before. As they all moved off to their various tasks, the wind gusted into the mine and produced the sound that gave it its name. But for a moment, as he neared the quicksilver vein, Kureeth was sure he could hear a distinctly different whistle, coming from somewhere deeper in the earth.


	3. Shipping Out

Kureeth was thankful for his new gloves when shipping day rolled around, a few days after Astene and Angrenor’s confrontation. The veteran Nord had gradually slowed his work over that time, though Kureeth had as yet not been able to tell whether the man’s wound was paining him, or whether it was a deliberate act of protest. But as he stacked the ingots of iron and quicksilver outside the mine, Kureeth’s attention was diverted elsewhere.

Markus, Winterhold’s carriage driver for a couple of years now, was approaching the mine to take the supplies down the Windhelm to be sold. And he had a passenger: the Archmage of the College, Vash gro-Nul. A youthful orc devoted to restoring Winterhold, he had, through the course of an adventure with Kureeth, Falin, the Dragonborn, and others, returned from a brief jaunt in Oblivion with his beard permanently stained ash-grey.

The Archmage dropped lightly from the carriage before it had come to a complete halt and strode quickly over to Kureeth. The two locked wrists but did not speak; Vash respecting Kureeth’s preference for silence. He did, however, greet Masa verbally.

“Astene not with you?” asked the overseer.

Vash’s eyebrows went up a little. “I assumed she would be here already,” he said.

Masa grunted and said, “What brings you out here, Archmage?”

Vash’s gestures became expansive as he explained. “As you might have heard, the Jarl and I have plans to set up a forge in town. We’re still looking for a good blacksmith to run it, but in the meantime we need raw iron for the construction, which we’re hoping to begin as soon as possible.” He pulled a jingling pouch from within his robes and Kureeth noticed both Relbray and Ingarth both get a hungry sort of look.

Vash trailed off to stare at Ursula.

“What?” she asked, taking a step back.

“Sorry,” said the Archmage. “It’s just you don’t seem like the usual miner type.”

Masa was looking over the stacked iron in its crates, some already being loaded into the back of Markus’ wagon.

“Most of this is already spoken for,” they were saying, “but I can let you have a dozen for the usual rate.”

“By all means,” said Vash. He counted out the gold while Masa directed a grumbling Ingarth to load the dozen ingots into a sack. None of them, not even Kureeth, would have been able to lug that sack all the way back to Winterhold—a problem that had clearly been on Masa’s mind.

“How are you going to carry it?” they asked, for Markus and his carriage were heading south to Windhelm and business.

“Not a problem,” said Vash. Wisps of orange light escaped from his left palm and encircled the sack. It gradually rose from the snow and floated to hang just beside him. “Pleasant journeys to all of you,” he said. He strode northwards, the sack trailing along through the air with him. Ursula watched his departure with a slight frown.

Masa’s displeasure seemed to heighten with each passing moment that Astene did not appear. It was her job to conduct the business in Windhelm, while Masa remained to oversee the mine. Kureeth looked to the north road but could only make out the retreating form of Vash.

“You didn’t wait for her?” asked Masa, looking up at Markus in his carriage seat.

“I waited like I always do,” said the driver. “But she didn’t come.”

Masa grunted. The expression on their face shifted to what Kureeth thought could be called worry.

“Where in Oblivion is Angrenor?” asked the overseer suddenly. “I told him to get that last load.”

Everybody looked around, but the big Nord was nowhere to be seen. Masa gestured to Kureeth, who started walking back into the mine. Thankful to be out of the wind, he soon found Angrenor curled on his bedroll, his face scrunched up in pain. Kureeth crouched beside him and scuffed his feet to alert the man to his presence. Angrenor gave a wet cough.

“Wound must be actin up,” he said between ragged breaths. “Don’t tell Astene.”

Kureeth nodded, though he did not think Angrenor saw. He found the crate of iron ore a little further back in the mine. Angrenor had clearly dropped it when the pain had come on and the ore had spilled across the ground. Kureeth gathered as many pieces as he could find and returned them to the crate. He hefted it up and carried it outside, ignoring the questioning looks that came from some of the others.

Masa, perhaps thankfully for Angrenor’s future job prospects, was too preoccupied with scanning the north road to ask any questions. There was still no sign of Astene. Kureeth heard Masa mutter something about Oblivion under their breath. The overseer turned back and hauled himself up next to Markus. Kureeth placed the last crate in the back of the wagon.

Masa surveyed the gathered miners for a moment. Kureeth anticipated the decision a moment before it came and felt his heartrate increase.

“Kureeth!” said Masa. “Til I get back, you’re in charge.” They gestured to Markus and the carriage started moving southwards.

“You?” said Relbray. “He chose—no.” He spat in the snow and stomped back into the mine. Ingarth chuckled but stopped when Kureeth looked at him. The Nord man raised his hands.

“Hey, no need to tell me what needs doing,” he said. He turned and followed Relbray.

“We’re a little, uh, short-staffed,” said Ursula. Kureeth gestured towards the mine opening and the two of them started walking inside. He wondered if this, at last, was a situation where he could argue for an increase to his pay. A one-off bonus, at least, that would offset the gold he’d spent on the gloves.

“Then we make do,” he said.


	4. Headless

The day crawled on. Astene did not appear, though Kureeth found himself looking for her more than he would have admitted. It was a struggle to keep his mind on the quicksilver vein before him. The light was hard to gauge in the mine unless one was near the entrance, but Kureeth felt sure that he’d been working for hours.

It would have been easy, he knew, to ignore the responsibilities bestowed upon him, or pass them off to someone else. Relbray clearly had some ambitions of his own. But Kureeth tore himself from the vein and tried to remember Masa’s extra duties. He left his pickaxe leaning against the rock wall. Time to check on the others.

From an adjacent chamber he heard a low voice that, as he rounded a corner, became clearly identifiable as Relbray’s. The dark elf was working on a vein inadvisably close to Ursula, clearly as an excuse to keep up a rambling barrage of questions. Kureeth lingered silently for a moment and listened.

“Just a simple question,” Relbray was saying. “No need to do a clam impression.”

Ursula abruptly stopped her work and faced Relbray.

“Why is it so important why I’m here?” she asked. “I’m here because I needed to work and Astene hired me.” She noticed Kureeth and her tone became less belligerent. “Besides, you haven’t told me anything about yourself either.”

“Have you met me?” asked Relbray, stopping work as well. “I talk of nothing but myself. I drop my histories on the floor on a daily basis, what are you offering?”

Ursula waved her pickaxe in Kureeth’s direction. “You’re not asking him any personal questions,” she said.

Relbray laughed. “Have you met him? I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say more than one word at a time. No, he’s a lost cause. You, though, you’re new. New stories, new secrets.”

Ursula started swinging at the iron vein again. “For all your talking,” she said between swings, “I don’t think you’ve actually said anything about _you.”_

Relbray did a mock stagger and raised his free hand to his chest. Kureeth frowned. This feckless dark elf was a far cry from the disappointed worker who’d spat in the snow not a few hours before. He was inclined to agree with Ursula—there was something else going on beneath Relbray’s exterior.

Kureeth folded his arms and put on his best serious look. Relbray raised his hands in defeat.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “I’ll get back to work.”

When he did, it was further away from Ursula than before. Kureeth grunted and left them to it. It would not do to get sidetracked, he thought, or become too involved in personal goings-on, not with his new authority to maintain. He checked the mine entrance again for any sign of Astene, or Masa returning from Windhelm. There was nothing.

He went to check on Ingarth. The Nord acknowledged Kureeth’s presence without stopping his work. His dirty blond hair was tied away from his face and Kureeth noticed an all too familiar threadbare quality to much of the man’s clothes.

“You know,” said Ingarth, after a silence, “I don’t have to take orders from you.”

True enough, in the scheme of things, thought Kureeth. He folded his thick arms and waited to see if there would be any further philosophising.

“But it won’t change when Masa gets back,” Ingarth went on. “Or if Astene ever shows up. This? This is all temporary.” He stopped swinging his pickaxe and took a few heavy breaths. “You wouldn’t give any orders though, would you? Just stand there with your arms folded and make us feel like we ought to know what we should be doing.”

Kureeth did not unfold his arms, or change his expression. For a moment he thought he could hear that different whistling again, coming not from without but from within. Something twitched in Ingarth’s face and Kureeth wondered if he could hear it too.

Ingarth dropped his voice to a low mutter. “Dig long enough in Skyrim, something old always turns up. Something valuable.”

Kureeth left him to his dreams. He rolled his shoulders and trod through the torch-lit mine to check on how Angrenor was doing. Astene, he knew, would be more concerned with whether the big Nord was capable of returning to work—though he had yet to discern Masa’s response to Angrenor’s condition. Kureeth found himself in a hazy middle ground: he wished for Angrenor to get back to work, but for the man’s own sake. Too long incapacitated, and Kureeth had no doubt Astene would not shirk from dismissing him. And as she’d said, finding work was not easy for a man with Angrenor’s complaints.

In the main chamber, Kureeth found Angrenor on his feet. The man had, however, managed to find himself some alcohol, going from the stink Kureeth felt on him. Angrenor staggered and muttered, his face heavy with creases. He was shambling through the camp, turning over bags and pots.

Kureeth reminded himself to breathe in and out. He made the distance to Angrenor quickly. He planted heavy hands on Angrenor’s shoulders. Angrenor dropped drool down his front. Kureeth could feel sweat pooling under the Nord’s furs.

“Lemme go,” said Angrenor. Kureeth did not.

“I said,” said Angrenor. Whatever he was going to say was lost in a grunt as he pulled himself away from Kureeth. He promptly fell on his face. Kureeth hoped the repeated clinking of pickaxes would prevent any of the others from hearing. He heaved Angrenor upright again. The man’s eyes had a faint yellow tinge to them. He took a swing at Kureeth with a wide lazy arm.

Kureeth avoided it and its follow-up with ease. Angrenor might have known how to fight once, but there was no skill in his movements now. A fist came towards Kureeth’s stomach. He caught it and pushed back. Angrenor toppled again, this time onto his back.

“Kureeth,” came a voice from the entrance. Kureeth looked up to see Masa striding into the mine.

“What in Oblivion’s wrong with him?” asked the overseer. Kureeth shrugged. Together they dragged Angrenor to his bedroll. The two of them crouched on either side of the big Nord, who made no further physical protests, merely grunted softly.

“No sign of Astene?” asked Masa. Kureeth shook his head. Masa’s face screwed up in distaste. “Right,” they said. “I’ll take care of this. The others all still working?” Kureeth nodded. “Good. You get into Winterhold and see what’s happening with Astene. Even if nothing’s happened to her, she needs to know what happened today.”

Kureeth rose and headed for the exit. When he looked back, Masa was staring sadly at Angrenor and tugging at their long braid. He wondered how the selling had gone, with Astene absent. All thoughts were momentarily banished from Kureeth’s mind as the evening wind of Winterhold almost knocked him over. Later even than he’d thought. He flexed his fingers in his new gloves, and headed along the northward path.


	5. Purging the Toxins

Kureeth made the last distance to Winterhold under the light of the aurora. Giant waves of green and blue were strung across the sky, the College’s towers in stark black against them. He stomped his feet clear of snow and entered The Frozen Hearth. Perhaps half a dozen patrons were gathered, most of them College mages. Kureeth nodded to those he knew and approached Dagur at the bar.

“Evening, Kureeth,” said the barman. “Anything you need? Mead, isn’t it?”

That was indeed Kureeth’s drink of choice, but he shook his head. “Is Astene in?” he asked.

Dagur gestured to his right, at the door to the mine owner’s room. “Far as I know,” he said. “She hasn’t come out of her room since she came in yesterday, though.” Kureeth started walking towards the closed door, a small spike of dread working its way through his chest. Dagur followed him, saying, “I knocked this morning when she didn’t show for breakfast, she yelled something about sleeping it off—whatever ‘it’ is.”

Kureeth thumped on the door with his fist. There was no answer. Kureeth pushed the door open and saw Astene lying on her bed. Sweat pooled under her clothes and her breathing was ragged. Kureeth took a few steps towards her and her eyes snapped open. There was a yellow tinge to them and Kureeth inhaled sharply. He turned to Dagur.

“Get a healer,” he said.

Dagur raced out and Kureeth heard him shouting something to the room. Kureeth crouched by the bed as Astene swallowed heavily.

“Kureeth,” she said. “Someone did this to me—”

She cut herself off as someone entered. Enthir, a Bosmer mage who Falin had described as seedy but more or less reliable. He peered close at Astene’s eyes, then let small traces of green light escape his left hand. Astene seemed to breathe a little easier and tried to raise herself, but failed.

“I’ve sent for your wife,” said Enthir to Kureeth. “Best healer we’ve got.” He tinkered with another spell and cast it as a wide blue net over Astene’s prone form. It faded without a reaction and he frowned. “Whatever this is, it’s not magical. I’ll see if the others know anything.” He left the room.

Astene took a hissing breath and said, “Your wife’s a healer?”

Kureeth nodded. It had been one of the reasons why the College had been so eager to take her in. Their only previous Restoration expert, Mirabelle Ervine, had been killed years earlier in a struggle Kureeth had only heard hints about. He sat with Astene in silence and listened to the mages outside talking in circles. They had no idea—their studies took them to strange and esoteric areas of magic, but perhaps too often neglected non-magical remedies.

Eventually, Falin entered the room. A pale and smooth-faced Imperial woman entered with her and Kureeth recognised her as Emelia, from the description Falin had given him some days earlier. Another new person who clammed up about their past. He stood aside to let the two mages examine Astene, Falin laying a gentle hand on his shoulder as he did.

She went to cast a spell, but Emelia grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t bother,” she said. “This is poison.”

“So?” said Falin. “We can still clear her system a little.”

 “Fine,” she said, unruffled. “But we’re going to need supplies.” She looked at Kureeth and said, “How’s your memory?”

“It’s fine,” intercut Falin, preparing a spell with both hands. “Just tell him what you need, he’ll go get it from Birna.”

Emelia peered at Kureeth like she wasn’t sure whether she believed Falin’s words or not. It was, however, hard to read such an unshifting expression. Still, she rattled off a list of seven ingredients. Kureeth listened, and organised them into the container of his mind. He hesitated for a moment, not knowing how to say he didn’t have enough gold—or any gold—to purchase the items.

“Give him some gold,” said Falin, releasing her spell. Pale green lights danced around Astene. The patient’s eyes tried to follow them for a moment before closing. The lights gradually lowered until they flowed through her skin. Emelia dug into her robes and carelessly tossed over a pouch that clearly contained far more than was needed. Kureeth left the room.

He ignored the questions that came towards him from the others in the inn, and exited into Winterhold. The aurora still gave him enough light to cross to Birna’s Oddments, though the wind had picked up greatly and snow danced about the town. Poison, he thought. Out at the mine, or lurking within Winterhold? Deliberate, or accidental? Kureeth struggled to wade through a mire of useless information. He couldn’t tell who would have motive to poison Astene, but he could try and work out who would have had the opportunity.

Astene socialised little in Winterhold, Kureeth knew. He had heard Ingarth make derogatory reference to her writing letters in her room at odd hours. In The Frozen Hearth, then, the first options were Dagur, his wife Haran, and his almost-grown daughter Eirid. Though why any of them would wish to kill one of their longest-staying customers was beyond Kureeth.

Birna was still in her shop, despite the late hour. Kureeth recited the list of ingredients and tried not to notice the shopkeeper’s surprise when he produced such a heavy coin pouch. Outside again, he pondered how careless Emelia had seemed with the gold, and whether she would notice if there was a little more missing than could be accounted for. It would get Falin and him their house sooner, for sure, and he knew that most, if not all, of his fellow miners would take the risk—though as he considered that, Kureeth knew he could not account for Ursula.

He sighed at himself and left the pouch as it was. Crossing the street again, he considered the miners as suspects. Suddenly he cursed himself for a fool and drew a look from the patrolling guard. Kureeth looked away and hurried back into The Frozen Hearth. He knew where the poison had come from.

Emelia made fast use of the ingredients Kureeth brought her. Two were fed directly to Astene—though her face showed she was holding back a complaint about the taste—while the rest were crushed and mixed in a bowl. Kureeth hung back and watched Astene down the lot. He should have realised earlier. The yellow tinge to the eyes was the same he had seen on Angrenor. That meant the poison could only have come from the one meal shared between the two: the bread broken after the argument in the mine.

As the night went on, and Falin and Emelia conferred on further spells to halt the advance of the poison, Kureeth remembered something else. While Astene had taken only one bite of the bread, Angrenor had eaten his entire half. Kureeth became increasingly uncertain of his ability to help the mages, and was on the verge of rising when Astene called him over. She waved the mages away and spoke in a low voice.

“Someone did this to me,” she said.

Kureeth nodded. “The bread,” he said.

Astene’s eyes widened with understanding. Her breathing became relieved. “At the mine, then. I thought as much. You need to find out who.”

“How do you know it wasn’t him?” asked Emelia from the doorway, keeping an eye on the other inn patrons, thinning now as the hour drew later. There was no genuine interest in her voice, however.

Falin immediately interjected, “He would never—”

“I know,” said Astene. “And you wouldn’t have tried to save me if you had. Find out who.”

Kureeth waited for a moment, then nodded. “Angrenor,” he said.

Falin frowned. “The veteran? What’s he got to do with this?”

“Another victim, perhaps, intentionally or otherwise,” said Astene. Her brow creased and she turned her head towards the mages. “I can’t ask either of you to trek through the snow at this hour. . .”

“I’ll do it,” said Emelia. “The cold doesn’t get to me as much as others.” Falin looked like she was about to object, so Emelia said, “Look, you’re a better at Restoration than me.” She gestured at Astene. “She just needs someone to stabilise her if there’s a flare-up. No reason for anybody to get frostbite if they don’t have to.”

Astene nodded with approval. “Find them,” she said again to Kureeth. He rose and Falin placed a hand on his chest. Emelia was already out of the room.

“Be careful,” said Falin. Kureeth gave her an expression they both knew meant ‘of course.’ He followed Emelia out, where she was waiting at the inn door.

“How badly is this other one doing, compared to her?” she asked.

Kureeth remembered Angrenor’s flailing, his incoherent mumblings, his violence and refusal to listen.

“Worse,” said Kureeth.

Emelia’s expression did not shift from its mask. “Then we should be moving,” she said. She pulled open the door and led Kureeth into the driving snow.


	6. Surrounded by Suspects

Kureeth and Emelia found themselves walking into a blizzard. The snow blocked out most of what light the aurora could have provided, and even the patrolling guard had retreated to their barracks. Standing on the porch of The Frozen Hearth, the pair observed what they would have to fight against to make their way to Whistling Mine.

“Ingredients?” asked Kureeth, remembering. Birna would be fast asleep by this hour, he presumed. But Emelia only patted one of the pouches at her belt.

“Some leftovers,” she said. “We can make do.”

She pulled her hood up and summoned a small white light that hovered ahead of them, then stepped into the snow. Kureeth followed her, squinting his eyes against the wind. He observed the snow catching in Emelia’s pitch-black hair and the way not even the biting wind could make her expression change.

The snow hadn’t been falling long enough to make their journey too difficult. Still, they made the rest of it in silence. Kureeth was pleased enough with this, because it gave him time to consider his investigation. Astene had seized upon the bread as a way to symbolically end the argument with Angrenor—there was no way anybody could have predicted such an action. That meant, Kureeth reasoned, that the possible intended targets included everyone in the mine. It also meant, unfortunately, that the possible culprits could not be narrowed down either—aside from saying, presumably, that Astene and Angrenor would not have wanted to poison themselves. If Astene had wanted Angrenor out of the way, she could have just fired him. Angrenor, though. Kureeth considered whether the man was the sort to poison himself in order to deflect responsibility. But then, why eat the full half of the loaf and risk death? No, Angrenor could not have known about the poison, unless his masochism was truly boundless.

There was something else, too, Kureeth realised. Astene had only taken one bite, then thrown the rest of her half to Masa. Where was that now? In his absence, had someone else used it to fill out their meal? Kureeth stepped up his pace and Emelia matched it without comment.

Dawn was still an hour away when the pair reached Whistling Mine. Not even the guards bothered with a night-duty out here, and Kureeth gestured to Emelia that they should rest in the small windbreak for a moment.

“What?” she asked, once in the shelter. “Something else I should know?”

Kureeth, as always, formatted his thoughts into as few words as possible.

“Don’t mention what happened to Astene,” he said.

Emelia looked at him for a few heartbeats before nodding. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll just say I came in to treat that man.” She paused. “Someone’s going to ask about your boss.”

Kureeth, thankful that she understood he was trying not to ruin his investigation before it started, considered this. “She was ill, but not seriously,” he said. A good enough lie, for now. He hoped he’d have the chance to bring Astene up to speed before any of the others could get to her.

“Enough?” Emelia said.

Kureeth nodded and led her into the mine. To his surprise, everybody was already awake—or rather, as became immediately clear, still awake. Bleary eyes and frustrated expressions were on every face.

“Oh, the shit you’ve missed,” said Ingarth. He and the other miners were spread around the camp, all at various stages of alertness except for Angrenor, who rested on his side, breathing heavily. Ursula was looking nervously at Emelia.

“Who’s the witch?” asked Relbray.

“Nobody,” said Emelia. She crossed quickly to Angrenor and tried to turn him onto his back, frowning when her action failed. Masa added their strength and together the Nord was moved to gaze at the ceiling.

“Can you help him?” asked Masa. “We’ve only just got him to be quiet.”

Emelia already had her fingers in one of her pouches. “Maybe,” she said. “If you all get out of my way.”

Masa grunted something that could have been approval. They stood and gestured to Kureeth. He followed the overseer slightly further back into the mine, unable to see the leftover bread as he passed the camp.

“What happened to Astene?” asked Masa.

Kureeth scanned the Dunmer’s eyes for any hint of guilt and again lamented his lack of information. “She was ill,” he said. “Not seriously. She is recovering.”

Masa sighed and pulled at their braid. “She have any message?” they asked.

Kureeth shook his head. Masa grunted again and returned to the camp, crouching on Angrenor’s other side despite Emelia’s warning. Kureeth remained at a distance, watching his fellow miners. Relbray was sitting crosslegged, watching Angrenor and rocking slightly. Ursula was rubbing at her eyes and hair, staring at her hands. Abruptly she stood and came over to Kureeth.

“Is Astene okay?” she asked.

Kureeth looked at her for a few moments before nodding. Something in his chest told him that she was the least likely suspect, though he still thought she was hiding something, if not attempted murder. He decided to take a chance.

“Is there bread left?” he asked.

Ursula looked back at the camp, then said, “I don’t think so. Maybe one of the others has some stashed.”

“Do you?” asked Kureeth.

Ursula folded her arms, though perhaps just against the cold. Kureeth heard the whistling from within the mine start again and noticed Emelia’s head dart up at the sound. She frowned, then returned to her mixing of the antidote.

“No,” said Ursula. Kureeth nodded, attempting to give an impression of belief. And he did believe, he thought. Ursula seemed to type to share her meal with him if she thought he had missed his by being away on his errand. “I realised I don’t know anything about her,” she added.

“Who?” asked Kureeth, noting the way she’d looked at Emelia.

“Astene,” said Ursula. “I don’t think she has any friends in town.” Her tone contained pity and Kureeth wondered if he was being manipulated.

“Masa?” he asked.

Ursula frowned. “I don’t think Masa likes their boss very much.”

Kureeth had not noticed anything of the sort. How much else had he missed, while he was focussed on blending into the background of the mine?

“Enemies?” he asked.

Ursula’s eyebrows went up and she said, “Why? I mean . . . no, I don’t know. Can you hear that?”

“Just the wind,” said Kureeth, though he was beginning to have other suspicions. Ursula looked for a while towards one of the back areas of the mine.

“You gonna ask me where I’m from?” she asked.

“No,” said Kureeth. She looked at him with her eyebrows back up. Kureeth reluctantly formed more words. “Your past is your own,” he said. “I care about the present.” And the future, he thought, his and Falin’s prospective home coming into his mind.

“Sounds like you and me are the only ones sometimes,” said Ursula. “This whole province is obsessed with the past.” She turned away, walking back to the camp and wrapping a blanket around herself.

Emelia was trying to force her antidote paste down Angrenor’s throat, with Masa attempting assistance. Relbray was still watching, but Ingarth was looking at Kureeth. After a time, the Nord rose and approached the Argonian.

“Reckon they’re still gonna make us work today?” he asked.

Kureeth made a non-committal noise.

“Yeah,” said Ingarth, like Kureeth was agreeing with him. “Something funny’s going on here. Place like this, full of people looking to hide from the world? And all these expansions the Archmage’s pulling? Recipe for a gods-damned disaster, I say. You want some advice?”

Kureeth had the feeling he was going to get it either way.

“I say you shouldn’t trust any of these people. Not here, not in town, and certainly not them mages. Place reeks of secrets and—if that fucking whistling don’t stop I’m gonna do something drastic.” Ingarth sniffed heavily and looked Kureeth up and down. “You sleep, or you been faking this whole time?”

Kureeth felt the tiredness creep into his bones. He ignored it. He was no closer to proving anything, he thought. He saw Emelia step back from Angrenor and move towards the door. There was a faint light coming down, hinting at dawn. Kureeth hurried over to her and she looked at him, again without expression.

“Done all I can,” she said. ‘I don’t know whether it’ll hold. If it doesn’t, send for me or your wife.”

“Safe journey,” said Kureeth, on an impulse he couldn’t explain.

Emelia snorted. She was heading away and with her head down, but Kureeth was close to sure that she said, “Not in this life.”


	7. Down

Masa allowed everybody to sleep until noon. However, upon rising, the overseer worked everybody harder than before. Kureeth was directed to the newest quicksilver vein and found himself being checked on more often than usual. Angrenor remain horizontal all through the day and the following night. His condition appeared to be stabilising—he certainly no longer ranted or frothed, and the yellow tinge to his eyes had faded. There was no word from Winterhold until the next morning, when Astene walked into the mine as the miners were getting ready for the day’s work. By this point, Angrenor had managed to sit upright.

Astene looked in near-perfect health, and were it not for a slight wan quality to her features and the bags under her eyes, Kureeth would have judged her to have had a full recovery. He stood waiting to see if she would engage him in quiet conversation over his investigation—and he regretted his lack of progress—but she made no such movement. Instead, she planted her feet in the centre of the main chamber and put her hands behind her back.

“If I could have your attention,” she said, in a tone that gave no indication of there being an alternative.

Gradually the miners gathered. Relbray smirking about something, Ingarth surly-faced, Ursula rubbing at her eyes. Masa helped Angrenor to his feet and they all stood waiting.

“Our new quicksilver vein,” said Astene, “has the potential to vastly increase our fortunes.” Kureeth noticed his boss’ use of the collective pronoun. “The current price for it is more than ten times that of iron. I believe that the vein extends directly down and that, in order to take full advantage of it, a new excavation must begin. The chamber must be extended down.”

A disgruntled murmur took hold among the group. Kureeth gauged that the mine did not really have enough bodies for such a job, and he did not expect Astene to hire more. The mine boss held her palms out.

“In recompense for the extra work,” she said, “I am increasing your pay by ten percent.”

The murmur took on a different tone. Kureeth was making slow calculations in his mind when Masa said, “We’ll need wood, for platforms.”

“You’ll get everything you need,” said Astene.

“Is the increase permanent?” asked Angrenor, now standing without aid. “Or are you gonna take it back soon as we’re done digging?”

Astene held her lips tight together. “It will be permanent,” she said.

As Masa directed Ursula and Relbray in surveying the chamber where the excavations would take place, and Angrenor and Ingarth discussed the unique smelting challenges that quicksilver presented, Kureeth took the opportunity to approach Astene for a quiet word. However, she spoke before he did.

“Thank you for your concern the other night,” she said, speaking loud enough for the two Nords to hear. “But I am now fully recovered. It seems that I simply ate something that disagreed with me, and I have already had words with Dagur on the topic.”

Kureeth heard Ingarth muttering something under his breath. He tried to make it clear with his expression that he was uncertain of how to respond, but Astene gave him no clues.

“I will reimburse the mage for her time,” she added. “And then everything will be as it should be.”

* * *

 

Over the ensuing weeks, Kureeth and his pickaxe led the backbreaking charge down. The miners worked in rolling shifts, breaking from the heavy work of digging to the lighter work of managing the usual iron veins—Astene wanted as little disruption as possible to the usual functions of the mine. The sound of pickaxes striking against stone became a constant, overwhelming Kureeth’s attempts to check if the strange whistling had returned or changed as they dug. They all caught sleep where they could and even Masa was caught up in the exhaustion.

Angrenor pushed himself hard. Though Kureeth kept an eye on the big Nord, he could not catch any sign of returning sickness other than a sort of ragged and heavy breathing. But then, they were all sweating and exhaling in greater quantities than usual.

By the end of the first week, the chamber was twice as deep as it had once been. A wagon full of logs arrived at the mine and for an afternoon the miners became carpenters, cutting and nailing the logs into a ramp that wound around the edge of the chamber. Astene had been right: the quicksilver vein extended down, widening several times over as it did so.

By the end of the third week, the chamber was three times as deep again, and Ingarth had become proficient at smelting the quicksilver. Astene kept her emotions close, but she was clearly pleased with the progress as she took the loads down to Windhelm to sell. One morning the miners found a new set of thick blankets had been delivered, along with several legs of beef—most of which was devoured in a few days. Morale had never been so high.

Kureeth spent most of his days off too exhausted to do much more than drag himself to Winterhold and sit in the College with his eyes closed as Falin talked excitedly of her progressing studies. Occasionally he would meet eyes with Emelia while he was there, though she never asked after Angrenor or, for that matter, broached conversation at all.

But one afternoon, as he was preparing to return to the mine from Winterhold, Kureeth made a detour into The Frozen Hearth. He ignored Relbray, Angrenor, and Ingarth, who were all ensconced in a corner drinking ale and telling tall tales, and trod instead to Astene’s door. He knocked twice and was met with a nervous glance from Dagur at the bar that he could not parse.

When Astene opened the door she seemed in both perfect health and perfect spirits—or as much as she ever was.

“You wish to speak with me?” she asked, knowing that Kureeth would prefer not to volunteer more words than he had to. He nodded and she opened the door wider to let him in. He looked back at the miners in the corner, though none of them seemed to have noticed him. He stepped inside and Astene closed the door.

She settled herself on the single chair and said, “Is there something amiss with the excavation? The conditions?”

Kureeth frowned at her, sure that she knew why he was there.

“Oh, very well,” she said. She folded her hands in her lap. “I was hoping we could put all of that unpleasantness behind us.”

“Someone tried to kill you,” said Kureeth. He tried not to let his disbelief escape into his tone.

“Perhaps,” said Astene. “I realise I am not popular among your fellow workers. But there would have been no way to predict that I would eat from that loaf. It could have been intended for anyone. Or indeed it could simply have been a bad loaf.”

“Emelia said it was poison,” said Kureeth.

“She could have been mistaken,” said Astene.

Kureeth did not think that likely, despite how little he or anyone else knew of Emelia’s skills and experience. However, he did not say so. He clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Someone tried to kill someone,” he said.

“And you’re welcome to spend your spare time investigating it,” said Astene. “I, however, have other concerns. If you disrupt the works—and this includes involving the Jarl or your friend the Archmage—then your employment will be terminated. Is that understood?”

Kureeth wanted to spit on the floor. He nodded. Without a dismissal, he turned and left Astene’s room. He tried very hard not to slam the door behind him, but must have failed, if the looks from the inn’s patrons were anything to go by. He stomped back into the snow. Another week of hard digging lay ahead of him, surrounded by people he could not trust in a place far away from any help. Another week of digging down, always down.


	8. Beasts of the Northern Wild

Another week went by. The excavation grew still deeper and the quicksilver more plentiful. The pay rise seemed to keep the other miners happy, or at least happy enough to keep their complaints for when they were drinking. Kureeth still kept an eye on everybody, but could determine only that he was becoming increasingly paranoid.

He did discover, however, that the whistling coming from within the mine was indeed getting louder. After a few vague references to it, not wanting to seem insane, he discovered that while Ingarth and Ursula appeared to be able to hear it, Masa and Relbray could not. Angrenor he could get nothing out of. The big Nord said close to nothing during those days, throwing himself into his work with a ferocity that gave even Masa pause. The overseer stepped in to caution Angrenor about pushing himself too hard, but the man barely seemed to hear them. After that, everybody left him alone.

On the next day off, Kureeth lingered later in the mine after the others had left. He trod the wooden platforms down to the base of their excavation and crouched with an earhole to the stone. Not a sound. He grunted and stood. Never when he wanted it to appear. When he reached the top he thought he heard something, but by then he was within range of the whistling wind and was unable to separate the two noises. He pulled his furs tighter around himself and trod into the snow.

He hadn’t gotten more than a few minutes north of the mine when he saw a figure on the path ahead of him, staring down the snow to the east, their arms spread a little out from their body. Hard to distinguish people when they were so wrapped up in layers of fur. Kureeth had made a habit of waiting until he was one hundred percent sure before hailing someone. As he got closer, he saw that the figure was Ursula. He also saw that there was a frost troll bearing down on her.

As he started running forward, Kureeth remembered the days when he and his wife ran security for Ri’saad’s caravan. Trolls were a natural part of that job, though back then he’d had armour, and backup of both the warrior Khayla, and Falin casting her Alteration and Restoration spells. He’d seen the trolls before on this road, along with other Skyrim wildlife, but always at a distance.

For some reason, the troll seemed reluctant to approach Ursula. She turned at the sound of Kureeth’s footsteps on the snow. Quickly she turned back towards the troll and raised a palm in its direction. The troll flinched, howled, and beat a hasty retreat. By the time Kureeth reached Ursula’s side, the creature was out of sight, white fur hidden in the snow.

He breathed heavily for a few moments before asking, “How?”

Ursula shrugged and looked out towards where the troll had vanished.

“Maybe they’re finally learning that Winterhold’s full of people that can shoot fire from their hands,” she said.

Kureeth recognised now where he’d seen the stance she’d had, and the gesture she’d made: all trademarks of a mage. It made sense, spend enough time in Winterhold and one eventually picked up the basic hallmarks of spellcraft, even if the actual practice of magic was out of reach.

“But you can’t,” said Kureeth.

After a pause, Ursula said, “No. But the troll doesn’t know that.”

Kureeth gave an amused snort. Fair enough. He wasn’t sure of his ability to take down a troll armourless anyway, even with Ursula’s help. He looked her up and down.

“Do you carry a weapon?” he asked. He couldn’t see one, or the sign of one, on her.

She looked him up and down, then took a step back and pulled a dagger from somewhere inside her furs. There was a carved design along the blade that Kureeth had not seen before, though it was unmistakably Nordic. Before he could peer closer, Ursula returned it to its hiding place.

“Probably not enough to take down a troll,” she said.

“If you stick it in the right place,” said Kureeth.

Ursula smiled briefly, then started walking towards the town. Kureeth fell in alongside her.

“You have a lot of experience stabbing trolls?” she asked.

“I fight unarmed,” said Kureeth. “My wife and I were security for a Khajiiti caravans.”

“Unarmed?” asked Ursula. “Wait, you’ve gone unarmed up against a troll?”

Kureeth turned his face away from her. He didn’t want to admit he’d gone in unarmed up against a dremora and a Dwemer centurion and more, when he and Falin had travelled with the Archmage and the Dragonborn, and the rest of that motley group. More stories than he wanted to tell, more words. But for every fight there was an important detail that had ensured his survival.

“Never alone,” he said. “Other fighters, mages.”

“Still,” said Ursula. “That’s insane.”

Kureeth grunted. He supposed it was, from a certain angle. He’d handled a few weapons in his younger fighting days. Blades and maces, a bow or spear. He could still manage with all of them, if he was forced to. But he’d always had a preference for getting in close with his fists and feet and tail. A whirlwind of bare or armoured flesh.

“Like the freedom of it,” he said.

They walked in silence for a minute before Ursula said, “Got some hidden depths there, Kureeth.”

He looked sideways at her as they walked. “So do you,” he said.

Ursula was silent for a while, the only sound being the crunch of boots on snow. The town buildings of Winterhold appeared ahead of them.

“Might tell you about that sometime,” said Ursula, looking at her feet.

“When you’re ready,” said Kureeth quickly.

Outside The Frozen Hearth, Ursula paused and extended her hand. Kureeth took it without hesitation and was surprised when it became a wrist-grasp rather than a handshake. He was also surprised at the strength in that grasp. She turned without a word and headed into the inn. Kureeth watched after her until the door closed, admitting that he might be constantly re-evaluating his opinion of her.

Up in Falin’s room at the College, he related, in as few words as possible, the story of Ursula and the frost troll. Only after he was finished did he notice that Emelia had been leaning against the wall nearby the entire time. He gave himself a reminder to listen more closely for her apparently near-silent footsteps.

“Can trolls learn?” Falin asked. She looked up at Emelia, who gave no response. “I guess,” continued Falin, “that it’s possible. I don’t feel like we’ve been here long enough to know something like that. Vash said that when the dragons were rising that they stopped coming here pretty quickly after they realised the mages could summon lightning to blast them out of the sky.”

Kureeth grinned. That certainly sounded like Vash. He noticed Falin had given up trying to refer to their old friend as the Archmage.

“Dragons are a few orders of intelligence above trolls,” said Emelia.

“Sure, yeah,” said Falin. “But, I don’t know. The frost wraiths never seem to learn.”

“Nor do the Nords,” said Emelia.

“Ah, things are improving,” said Falin. “Still, it’s odd. I’d like to talk to Ursula, if you could convince her.”

Kureeth made a wavering gesture. He wasn’t sure that Ursula was comfortable in company, and was surprised to have seen her entering the inn at all.

“I used to know someone who could do that,” said Emelia. “Make animals turn away.” She stared off to the side for a moment, then walked away. Kureeth raised his eyebrows at his wife.

“Yeah,” said Falin. “Like what I said about Antario, right? Maybe we just attract people with mysterious pasts.”


	9. The Jarl's Visit

A few days after Kureeth’s encounter with Ursula and the frost troll, the Jarl of Winterhold came to visit Whistling Mine. Kraldar had gained the title after the civil war, having fortuitously made himself agreeable to the Imperials. He had elevated with him his friend Thonjolf, who served as housecarl and commander of the Winterhold guards. This second position was, officially speaking, temporary, but had remained in Thonjolf’s hands for all of the five years since the war’s end.

Kureeth and Masa were breaking for a noon meal when the Jarl and his housecarl arrived. Kureeth fully expected them to be accompanied by Astene, but she was nowhere in sight, though he was sure they would have had to clear such a visit with her first.

Masa immediately jumped to their feet and greeted the visitors with enthusiasm, apologising for the filthy state of the works. Angrenor, Ingarth, and Ursula, as far as Kureeth knew, were below in the deep quicksilver excavation, while Relbray was working on a regular iron vein a short distance away, just out of sight but not of hearing.

“I have been hearing much of your success,” said Jarl Kraldar. “Such growth can only be good for Winterhold.”

Masa smiled and did a short bow. “Do you wish to see the excavation?” they asked.

“If it would be convenient,” said Kraldar.

“Of course,” said Masa. “Right this way.” They turned and led the Jarl down the tunnel that led to the hole, as the miners had quickly come to call it. Thonjolf, however, lingered, fixing his gaze on Kureeth. The Argonian remained crouched, chewing slowly on his bread and meeting the Nord’s gaze. After a time, Thonjolf walked down the tunnel after Masa and the Jarl.

Kureeth swallowed the last of his meal, then stood and stretched. Relbray’s appearance was foreshadowed by the lack of the sound of his pickaxe against the stone.

“Would’ve been nice to have some warning,” the Dunmer said, quickly picking up his own food from the camp. Kureeth shrugged. Kraldar had gained a reputation as a man with tempered vision, aligning himself with Vash’s dream of a restored Winterhold, but maintaining more down-to-earth concerns. The Jarl, Kureeth understood, provided the realism to the Archmage’s optimism.

“And where’s Astene?” asked Relbray. “She ought to be here for something like this. Can’t just have the Jarl wandering in here whenever he feels like having a peek.” He looked down towards the hole. “Come on,” he said.

Kureeth, somewhat to his surprise, had a similar curiosity. The pair walked down the tunnel and found themselves behind Masa and the two guests, who were leaning on the wooden railing, looking down towards the excavation. The overseer was rattling off facts about loads taken out and progress made. Thonjolf was again looking more at Kureeth than anything else in the mine.

Relbray, still eating, leaned on the railing a little down from Masa and smirked past them at the Jarl. Kureeth, knowing it was past time for him to relieve Ingarth, took steps towards the wooden ramp that led down and around the pit.

“Might have a look down,” said Thonjolf. “If there’s no objection.”

“Of course not!” said Masa. “If the miners give you any trouble, let me know straight away.”

Relbray snorted and received a quick glare. Kureeth found himself accompanied by the housecarl on his way down.

“You find this rewarding?” Thonjolf asked. Kureeth heard noises behind them and saw that the others were following them down a few paces behind, Masa apparently having run out of banalities.

“It’s a living,” said Kureeth.

Thonjolf hummed like he wasn’t convinced. “Stories been coming through,” he said. “’Bout what happened at Helgen.”

“Dragons,” said Kureeth, though he knew what the housecarl was really aiming at.

“Dragons in Helgen?” said Relbray from behind them. “Wasn’t that years ago now?”

“Eight or nine,” confirmed Kraldar.

“No dragons,” said Thonjolf. “Dragonborn again, though. Fighting Thalmor, and daedra.”

“Bards are already composing the songs,” said Kraldar. “How the Dragonborn and her motley group of comrades turned back the unholy tide and dove into Oblivion to shut the gate from the other side.”

“I heard she never came back,” said Relbray.

“No, she went south,” said Masa.

“Or retired,” said Kraldar.

“Whatever happened to her,” said Thonjolf, “I was more interested in the description of the person who held the line against the demons while their comrades went through the gate. Someone whose description is mighty close to yours . . . Kureeth, isn’t it?”

Kureeth stopped and everybody else stopped with him. They were one storey above the bottom of the excavation, and Ingarth and Ursula below had halted their work to watch and listen. Angrenor, however, kept digging. Kureeth met Thonjolf’s gaze and the silence stretched on.

“You been hiding some heroics from us, Kureeth?” asked Relbray.

“What are you doing here?” asked Thonjolf. “If that was you at Helgen, and I think it was.”

“I’m no hero,” said Kureeth. He looked down at Ursula and Ingarth. “Just trying to make a living.”

“Bards will make you a hero whether you want to be or not, son,” said Kraldar.

“I’m sure your friend the Archmage would confirm it if I asked him,” said Thonjolf, who hadn’t taken his eyes from Kureeth. “What about your wife? Was she at Helgen too?”

“What do you want?” asked Kureeth. There must have been something in his tone, for Kraldar and Relbray both took a step back. Thonjolf raised his palms. Kureeth heard Angrenor coughing.

“Just wanted to offer you a job,” said Thonjolf.

“No,” said Masa, quickly.

“With the guard?” asked Relbray, laughing bitterly. “Well, I’m sure they get paid more than us, but there’s still plenty of freezing your arse off.”

Thonjolf was clearly waiting for a reply. Kureeth knew that he would never hear the end of it from Falin if he turned the offer down outright. But the increased miner’s pay still wasn’t enough, not really, and he wondered if it would be impolite to ask how much more the guards got paid, especially in front of so many witnesses.

“I’ll think it over,” he said eventually.

Thonjolf nodded. “That’s all I can ask,” he said.

Angrenor started coughing again and didn’t stop. All eyes turned to him, his body thrashing as he tried to carry on his work. Blood from his mouth splattered against the rock. Kureeth started running down the platforms. Ursula and Ingarth approached Angrenor from opposite sides.

“Angrenor,” said Ingarth tentatively. “Angrenor, stop.”

The big man appeared not to hear the words. His arms carried on bringing the pickaxe down. Kureeth reached the bottom of the pit, hearing that the others were following slower behind him. He tore the pickaxe from Angrenor’s hand and the Nord started upright, then collapsed. He was caught by Ingarth and Ursula, but even they could not hold his weight. Angrenor sagged to the rock, blood dribbling down his front. His eyes fluttered, and by the time Kureeth had cast aside the pickaxe and leaned in close, Angrenor’s breathing had stopped.


	10. Mourning Never Comes

Jarl Kraldar offered to send for a mage, but it was too late. Kureeth had blood on him before they were sure that Angrenor was dead. Afterwards, he sat back against the stone and watched the body be carried up to the surface. He listened in silence as the Jarl and Astene concluded that the death was brought on by an old wound, aggravated by hard work. Astene volunteered to personally oversee the transport of Angrenor’s body back to Windhelm.

“Your care for your workers does you credit,” said the Jarl.

Perhaps to their own credit, none of those workers expressed a single disparaging noise. After the Jarl and Thonjolf were gone, and Astene headed to Windhelm on Markus’ carriage, the miners headed north in a loose clump. Silence reigned over their steps. When they reached the town, Ursula once again peeled away and disappeared between some of the buildings. The rest, except Kureeth, headed for The Frozen Hearth.

Kureeth trod his own way to the College. With Astene out of town, he reasoned, now was perhaps the perfect opportunity to approach Jarl Kraldar with his suspicions regarding poison. Thonjolf, maybe, would hear Kureeth out, given he’d already revealed his knowledge of Kureeth’s past experiences. But he wanted to talk everything over with Falin first.

The gate into the College opened for him without complaint—someone must have enchanted it to accept his coming. But he met J’zargo in the courtyard, the Khajiit mage wrapped in furs over his robes.

“This one must tell you your wife is not here,” said J’zargo. “She is on an enchanting contract with Sergius.” He paused. “She said to tell you not to do anything drastic.”

“Thanks,” said Kureeth. He was turning away when J’zargo said something else.

“If this one could offer his own advice,” he said. Kureeth turned back. “This town holds to its tragedies. Too tight, this one thinks. If there is opportunity to light a fire, this one always thinks it should be lit.”

Kureeth stood in the snow of the College courtyard and could not think of something to say. He didn’t know how up to speed on the town’s goings-on the mages were. Not as cut off as their reputation, perhaps. J’zargo made a gesture with his hands that Kureeth didn’t understand.

“Something to think on,” said the mage, turning towards the Hall of the Elements.

Kureeth trod back across the bridge and down to the town, wondering what Falin would say to all this new information. He stood in the road between the Jarl’s longhouse and The Frozen Hearth. Perhaps a tankard of mead would help him make a decision.

Once inside the inn, he signalled to Dagur at the bar and took a seat alongside his fellow miners. Apart from them, there were few other patrons at that afternoon hour. Masa sat across from Relbray and Ingarth—Kureeth pulled himself in alongside the overseer and Dagur soon approached with the mead.

“You ever had anyone die under you before, Masa?” Relbray asked.

Masa took a drink before answering. “This hasn’t always been my line of work,” they said.

“Answer the question,” said Ingarth. Kureeth wondered how much the three had managed to drink between them in the time he’d gone to the College and back.

“Yes,” said Masa. He frowned at his tankard. “It never gets easier.”

“Least you got no grieving relatives to deal with, right?” said Relbray. “Can’t say as there’s anybody back in Windhelm waiting for Angrenor.”

The two dark elves looked at each other across the bench. To Kureeth’s surprise, the contradiction came from Ingarth.

“Now that ain’t fair,” the Nord said. He finished his drink and waved for another. “Angrenor was a good man, even if he was broken. Fought for what he believed in.”

“What’s that?” asked Relbray. “Freedom to be an arsehole to anyone who ain’t a Nord? Freedom to leave the Dunmer languishing in the shittiest part of Windhelm so he could have someone to act superior to?”

“Just because you won the war,” said Ingarth, “doesn’t mean you need to get all cocky.”

“Just because I hate the Stormcloaks, doesn’t make me an Imperial,” said Relbray.

Kureeth prepared himself to rise, to duck over the table and separate the two. Dagur, however, had anticipated him. The bartender loomed behind Relbray and Ingarth.

“If you two are going to argue about the war,” he said, “I’m gonna have to ask that you take it outside.”

“Maybe we will,” said Ingarth, not taking his eyes off Relbray. He slowly rose from the bench as the dark elf did the same. Kureeth watched them both, then rose himself. Ingarth walked backwards towards the door and opened it to let in the cold. Then he walked backward through it onto the porch and finally turned to take the few steps down into the snow. Relbray soon positioned himself at the top of the porch steps. Kureeth was in the doorway but stepped forward as Dagur moved to close the door.

“Might want to keep an eye on them,” he said before it closed fully. Masa had not moved from their seat through the entire display—a ridiculous one, Kureeth thought. He hadn’t been in Skyrim while the war was on, but to cling to its conflicts in this way . . . it struck him that J’zargo might be onto something.

Ingarth moved back into the street until Relbray had enough room to descend the steps. The pair circled slowly. Kureeth watched from the porch. There was a single guard in front of the Jarl’s longhouse, but they did not seem inclined to interfere.

Relbray moved first. Ingarth simply waited for the blow to land and launched his own. Relbray staggered back in the snow. Kureeth, cursing his own hesitation, waded off the porch. With one arm he thrust Relbray on his back in the snow, with the other he grasped Ingarth by the collar. He moved his gaze quickly from one to the other.

“Alright, alright,” said Relbray, getting to his feet. He dusted snow off himself and mumbled something about seeing Malur. He headed towards the Jarl’s longhouse and, after speaking low to the guard, entered without knocking. Only after the door was closed did Kureeth let go of Ingarth’s collar.

Ingarth walked a few paces until he could look at the half-finished building just north of The Frozen Hearth—the prospective forge.

“Still keeping an eye on me?” asked Ingarth. Kureeth grunted. Ingarth continued staring at the forge. Kureeth wondered if a half-drunk Ingarth was the best person to broach this topic with, but he was running short of options.

“You notice Angrenor acting weird lately?” he asked.

Ingarth laughed. “I’m not stupid, Kureeth. He’s been weird even since that argument with the boss and you brought that mage out.” He seemed to know that Kureeth was waiting for him to say more. He grinned and said, “You reckon the boss’s sickness and Angrenor’s got something to do with each other.”

Kureeth gave a single slow nod. Ingarth’s grin held wide.

“What’s your angle?” asked Ingarth. “For all I know you poisoned them yourself—though why anybody would bother poisoning Angrenor is beyond me.”

For Kureeth, this attitude didn’t quite gel with Ingarth’s previous defence of their recently deceased colleague. He was about to ask about this when there was a flash of light to the west, over the hills towards Saarthal. He turned quickly and saw a jagged bolt of lightning leave the ground and shoot upwards into the grey clouds. In a heartbeat, it was over, leaving only an echo on Kureeth’s eyelids when he blinked.

Kureeth was running towards the source as soon as he could think to do so. He overtook the Winterhold guard and, on the steep westward path leading behind the town, Ursula.

“So I’m not imagining things,” she puffed as Kureeth stormed past her.

But when he reached the crest, the place where he should have been able to see who or what was responsible, there was nothing visible on the downward slope but a melted patch of snow. The footprints, however, told a different story. He deliberately trod over as many of them as he could on his way to the patch. Ursula frowned at him.

Breathing more heavily, the Winterhold guard joined them, and at last Ingarth.

“Did you see anything?” asked the guard.

Kureeth looked dead at Ursula and said, “No.”

The guard stood for a moment, catching their breath, then started to head back over to the town. Ingarth joined them, muttering something about mage towns.

“Why?” asked Ursula, when they were gone.

Kureeth wasn’t sure he knew the answer to that. He looked at the fresh burn mark stretching up Ursula’s sleeve.

“Seems like the worst place to hide,” he said.

“I . . . I wasn’t sure,” said Ursula. “Thought it’d be easier to blend in. And I need the work.”

Kureeth nodded. He didn’t think she was cruel enough to try and murder Astene or Angrenor. That meant her secrets were none of his concern. If she wanted to try and pass unnoticed as a mage in a town full of them, then, Kureeth thought, she was welcome to try.


	11. The Door

When Astene returned from Windhelm the next morning, the work began anew. If Ingarth and Relbray still had grievances with each other, they kept them to themselves. If anyone had mentioned anything to Astene about what had occurred while she was away, she showed no sign of it.

Down the digging went. The whistling got louder and Kureeth saw Ingarth with a finger in his ear, trying to work the sound out of his skull. Kureeth had learned, from his time in Skyrim, that there was always some ancient ruin just waiting beneath the surface. The whole province appeared to be built on top of old bones. He was just waiting for them to appear, with whatever history they brought with them.

Despite that, and Falin’s continual absence—Emelia said she’d gone all the way to Solitude—Kureeth hoped, perhaps in vain, he knew, for some normality. All this was ruined when he was shaken awake one night by Ingarth. The Nord had been working a night shift in the hole on his own and, according to Kureeth’s judgement, was not due to be relieved for another hour or so.

Ingarth gestured at Kureeth and then down the tunnel towards the hole. Kureeth sat up. He didn’t think the Nord was strong or fast enough to get the jump on him. Maybe their conversation the previous day had made Ingarth reckless. Kureeth rose and decided, as always, to play it safe. He would wait for Ingarth to incriminate himself rather than take any drastic action.

Ingarth led them to the top of the pit, where he leaned over the railing and whispered, “I noticed you been saving septims. How’d you fancy a little something extra?”

Kureeth said nothing, but allowed himself to follow Ingarth down to the base of the hole. No whistling tonight, it seemed, though Kureeth was often unsure whether he was hearing it or hearing an echo of it circling his brain. When they reached the bottom, Ingarth indicated a large cracked rock balanced against the side—the place where he’d been working.

“Give me a hand with this,” he said.

Kureeth put his hands on one side and together they levered the piece of rock out and away from the wall.

“Quietly, quietly!” said Ingarth, and though their muscles bulged, the pair lowered the rock gently to the floor.

“Take a look at that,” said Ingarth, when they were done.

Inserted into the wall, the top half of a carved stone door was visible. The rest lost beneath the rock. Kureeth was sure the style was Nordic, but beyond that, the symbolism escaped him. There was, however, quicksilver set into some of the carvings.

“I can’t get it open on my own,” said Ingarth. “But you know the old Nords buried themselves with all their treasure. This? Fucking untouched. Pristine. Imagine how much there could be inside.” He ran a hand down the carvings. “Split fifty-fifty, of course.”

“Of course,” echoed Kureeth. He knew all too well the dangers of what lay beneath Skyrim. But with that injection of funds, he could have a house for him and Falin up in no time. The whole rest of their lives ahead of them. He could take the job with the guard—or do whatever he wanted to do.

“Well?” said Ingarth, half-hunched, his face split with eagerness. Kureeth had raised a foot to kick at the door when there was a sound from above them. They both turned their gazes upwards to briefly see the face of Relbray at the top of the pit. He quickly vanished and they could hear his hurried footsteps down the tunnel.

“Fucking toadies,” hissed Ingarth. Kureeth’s face must have expressed surprise for Ingarth clarified. “Didn’t you know? Relbray and Astene go way back.”

“I thought Masa and Astene . . .” said Kureeth.

“And who told you that?” asked Ingarth.

“Relbray.”

Ingarth snorted. “There you go. Look, if we’re going in, we gotta go in now. Otherwise the boss will claim everything as hers, you know that.”

All that prospective wealth in the hands of Astene brought the sudden red mist down over Kureeth’s eyes. What had she done to deserve such benefits? He kicked out with his boot at the door. There was a satisfying thunk and Ingarth grinned.

“Again,” he said.

Kureeth gave two more kicks and felt something giving way. He hoped the door didn’t open outwards.

“Come on, come on,” Ingarth was saying.

Kureeth switched legs and kicked again. The shock travelled right up through his spine and he knew that he’d regret this come the morning. Was whatever wealth they might uncover worth the damage they might sustain? He decided, then, to not help Ingarth. Delving into an unexplored ruin with just a possibly murderous Nord for company was not his idea of pleasant night out.

Still, he gave the door one more kick. It was then, of course, that it collapsed inwards onto blackness. There was a great thunk as it hit whatever floor lay beyond. The whistling hit them like a barrage of arrows. It seemed to penetrate Kureeth’s skull from every angle, though he wondered too if it had really only increased in sharpness. Perhaps he and the other miners had just become used to the regular levels of whistling. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he could detect a mournful note to the sound now.

Tapping at the side of his head, Ingarth crouched by the opening. Then he rose and picked up the lantern he’d been working by the light of. He leaned forward, half into the black, and dropped the lantern as gently as he could.

It had perhaps only a metre to fall. Then they could see the door stood at the end of what seemed to be a long corridor, with an uncomfortably low ceiling. Ingarth being slightly shorter than Kureeth, he would potentially have an easier time navigating the passage. He gestured towards the opening with a wide arm.

“After you,” he said.


	12. Veins

“No,” said Kureeth.

There was a long pause then, as he and Ingarth stared at each other, standing on the threshold of the ruin.

“Then I’m sorry about this,” said Ingarth. He drew a knife from his belt and lunged at Kureeth, who jumped back. Ingarth bared his teeth and jumped down into the ruin. Kureeth saw him pick up the lantern and run off down the tunnel.

There was noise from above and Kureeth looked up to see Masa and Ursula coming down the platforms.

“Azura’s breath,” said Masa, as they reached the bottom. “How long have you known about this?”

“Few minutes,” said Kureeth, though Masa looked sceptical.

“Relbray just tore through,” said Ursula. “Ran outside without a word. Likely to freeze if he’s out at night.”

“He’s fetching Astene,” said Kureeth.

Ursula’s eyebrows went up, but Kureeth was watching Masa. The only reaction the overseer gave was a slight curling of the lip, a hint that could have developed into a snarl or a smile.

“And Ingarth’s gone,” said Ursula, peering into the opening.

Kureeth found himself a pickaxe. Whatever Ingarth was responsible for, he didn’t deserve to be killed by draugr in some forgotten ruin.

“You’re not going down there?” said Masa.

“You want to wait for Astene?” asked Ursula.

Masa grunted. “Fair enough,” they said. They hefted a pickaxe of their own, while Ursula lit a torch. Kureeth, not entirely pleased with the sort of expedition this was turning into, dropped into the ruin. He landed on all fours and turned back to help the others down. Ursula pointed the torch towards the only direction available: forward, down the low corridor. Kureeth had to hunch slightly so as not to bang his head.

“Wait,” he said.

“What?” asked Masa.

“Did you poison the bread?” Kureeth asked.

“What, you mean . . . when Astene and Angrenor got sick?” asked Masa. Kureeth nodded. “Oh, so you think I’m responsible for Angrenor dying, too.”

Kureeth made a non-committal gesture and kept a good grip on his pickaxe.

“And what reason would I have for trying to kill that fool?” asked Masa.

“You could have known him from before,” said Ursula.

“In Windhelm?” said Masa. “You couldn’t pay me to spend time there. I’ve been there twice, and one was the other week when Astene was sick. Place hadn’t changed.”

“What about in the war?” asked Ursula.

Masa sighed. “During your little war I was on the other side of the Velothi Mountains. Trying not to get killed by Argonians, I might add.”

Kureeth ignored the reference to his people’s invasion of Morrowind. A just retribution it may have seemed, but that didn’t mean he wanted to join in the slaughter.

“What about Astene?” he asked.

Masa laughed. “She pays me twice what she pays you. This is the steadiest job I’ve ever had. Why would I want to kill her?”

“But you don’t like her,” insisted Ursula.

“I don’t need to like her to do what she says and take her money,” said Masa. Kureeth found himself unconvinced, but agreed when Masa added, “We going to get on with this or wait until Her Holiness arrives to take everything?”

“If Astene died,” said Ursula, “wouldn’t you take over the mine? And make even more money?”

“It’s not about the money,” said Masa. “It’s about stability. I hate this”—here they gestured around the corridor—“the unexpected, the strange. Besides, whoever poisoned that bread had no way of knowing Astene and Angrenor would eat it. It could have been anyone trying to kill anyone. Including you two.”

Kureeth grunted. Once again he’d returned to the point where the only thing he was completely sure of was that it hadn’t been him.

“Perhaps someone was trying to kill me,” said Masa, “in order to receive the overseer’s pay. Someone looking to buy a house, perhaps?”

“You two can hear that whistling, right?” said Ursula, working a finger around in her left ear. “I’m not just losing my mind here?”

“I have heard little else for weeks,” said Masa. “I wondered perhaps that I was losing my mind, but I could tell some of you could also hear it.”

“I hear it,” said Kureeth. He didn’t have a way to respond to Masa’s accusation. He gestured down the corridor and the three of them began to move. Kureeth kept a watchful eye on both of them, then realised they were both doing the same.

The floor of the corridor was uneven, cracked with shadows. The ceiling was in a similar condition and Kureeth often had to duck under places where it looked like a cave-in was imminent. They trod as softly as they could, and Kureeth could see no sign of Ingarth.

“Have either of you seen draugr before?” asked Masa in a low voice.

“Yes,” said Ursula. Kureeth grunted an affirmative.

“Oh,” said Masa. “Then it seems you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Just don’t make too much noise,” said Ursula.

Kureeth wondered what previous life she had lived in order to gain knowledge of how to avoid draugr. They were not exactly in the finest environment for storytelling, however. He felt underequipped without Falin there to back him up. Really, he wished for anyone as backup other than two possible attempted murderers and a third somewhere ahead of them, with more on their way behind. Assuming Relbray hadn’t been mauled by a frost troll on his way to Winterhold.

They turned a tight left corner, and found themselves in a room perhaps twice the width of the corridor but with a ceiling just as low. The most notable feature, however, was the huge veins of quicksilver struck through the surfaces. Thicker than Kureeth’s arms, they reflected enough torchlight for him to see his own features. Clean and sharp veins, as if the room had been carved straight through. In the walls, ceiling, and floor, they turned the three miners speechless for a few moments.

“Astene will have a fit when she sees this,” said Masa.

Ursula chuckled, but Kureeth was examining the rest of the room. There was nothing else there—no sign of habitation or passage. Certainly nothing of Ingarth. He gestured forward again and they moved on, Ursula and Masa waving their arms slowly at their broken reflections. As the torchlight moved away, Kureeth looked back and noticed the veins seemed to glow slightly of their own accord.

 There was another corner, looser and to the right. Though the ceiling got no higher, they found themselves on a high ledge with a lever, perhaps with room enough for a half a dozen people, perched above a wide and deep pit. Largely square, the walls and ceiling were still struck through with the thick glowing quicksilver veins. On the opposite wall was a matching ledge with a matching lever and doorway, though it was much too far to jump. Even a thrown rope, Kureeth thought, would have some trouble.

Below, after perhaps three metres of clean wall, was dark water. The veins continued below the surface, extending far enough down that if there was a bottom, it was out of sight. There was no clear way across. Masa tried the lever and it came away in his hands. Ingarth was nowhere in sight.

“This . . . this is more than a fortune,” said Ursula. “But where in the hells is Ingarth?”

Masa held up the broken lever. “This must have done something. Lowered the water, maybe, to let him get across. Then he sabotaged it so that we couldn’t follow him.”

The doorway on the other ledge was dark, and their voices had brought nobody’s attention. Kureeth crouched and peered into the water. Some vague shapes lay beneath the surface, though he could not determine their identity. Ursula was looking at the ceiling, Masa at the opposite doorway.

“The whistling’s coming from over there,” said the overseer. “We have to get across.”

At that moment there was an exclamation from behind them. Kureeth ducked back around to corner to meet with exactly what he’d expected. Astene had caught up with them. She held a lantern in one hand, and a sword in the other.


	13. In the Glowing Halls

Astene looked with wonder at the glowing veins. Kureeth looked at her sword. He didn’t know how well she knew how to use it, so he had to assume at least some experience. He noticed cynicism on Masa’s face and, despite their earlier claims, knew he could not remove them from the list of suspects. And so far beneath the surface, Kureeth knew, there were many opportunities for ‘accidental’ deaths.

“Where’s Relbray?” asked Ursula.

“I sent him up to the College,” said Astene, now gazing out across the watery pit.

“What?” said Masa. “Figured you’d want all this for yourself.”

Astene tore her gaze away from the veins. “A year or two ago, yes,” she said. “But . . . Winterhold’s grown on me. I can’t explain it.”

Kureeth knew the feeling. Something in the chill settled over your bones until you realised that you might never be able to live without it. He’d known pretty quickly, as had Falin, that this was the place for them to settle. Masa, however, scoffed. Ursula frowned at the water.

“I want to help the town,” Astene went on. “Whatever’s down here, we need mage assistance.”

Kureeth deliberately didn’t look at Ursula. She was crouched on the edge of the ledge, looking down.

“No way to get across, anyway,” said Masa. He gestured with his pickaxe across the gap. “Too far to even throw a rope.”

“Perhaps,” said Astene. Ursula dropped her torch into the water. Kureeth watched it fall but could not perceive its shape for very long after it breached the surface and sent up a thin trail of smoke.

“There’s something under there,” Ursula said.

Astene looked at Kureeth. “You can breathe underwater, can’t you?”

Kureeth nodded. All Argonians could, but there was an important issue preventing him from trying.

“Can’t dive,” he said. “Don’t know how deep it is.”

Masa laughed. “Wouldn’t want to crack your skull, I guess,” they said.

Ursula looked at Kureeth for a moment before saying, “I’ll get some rope. Lower you down.” Astene handed over her torch, which would only be necessary for the stretch through the corridor. “I’ll be quick,” said Ursula, before vanishing around the corner.

There was a long silence before Astene said, “So Ingarth made it across.”

“And sabotaged this,” said Masa, kicking at the base that had held the lever. Astene picked up the handle that had come loose at Masa’s touch and examined it. She leaned her sword against the wall—both Kureeth and Masa watched this carefully—and attempted to reattach the lever. She met with no success.

“Whatever he did,” said Astene, “he did it thoroughly.”

Kureeth wondered if he should mention that Ingarth had tried to stab him.

“He woke you up,” said Masa, pointing his pickaxe towards Kureeth. “Why you?”

Kureeth shrugged.

“I did not think the two of you were particularly close,” said Astene.

“We aren’t,” said Kureeth, careful to use the present tense. He was also careful to keep a grip on his pickaxe and watch the movements of Masa’s and see how far everybody was from Astene’s sword. Which she hadn’t picked up, instead still holding the broken lever handle.

“He thinks I killed Angrenor,” said Masa. There was a snivelling tone to the overseer’s voice that made Kureeth frown. Perhaps he’d made a miscalculation about Masa’s dislike of Astene.

“I warned you about this,” said Astene, levelling the lever handle at Kureeth. “Angrenor’s old war wound finally caught up with him, that’s all.”

“Frankly, you were more than generous in taking on a veteran,” said Masa. Kureeth kept frowning, thinking that perhaps he was on the verge of understanding.

“Perhaps,” said Astene. “In those days good workers were hard to find. Still, your accusations are unfounded. Who would want to hurt Angrenor?”

Masa laughed. “We’ve been over this. He thinks it was an accident. Someone was planning to kill someone else.”

“Who?” asked Astene. Kureeth shrugged. “No, answer me,” said Astene.

“I don’t know,” said Kureeth. He ground his teeth together. There was something sitting just out of his reach. He watched how Masa looked at Astene, and vice versa. Or rather, the lack of a vice versa.

“Well then perhaps hold off on the accusations,” said Astene, “until you have something approaching evidence.”

It was then that Ursula returned, worry across her face and a rope wound over her shoulder. She tied one end to the broken base of the lever and tossed the rest over the edge. She looked with concern at Kureeth and with trepidation at the others.

“Well?” said Masa.

Kureeth left his pickaxe leaning against the lever base. He removed most of his furs until he was left with just gloves, and thin trousers. He started lowering himself down the rope with just the strength of his arms. His gloves scraped against the rough fibres and was glad he’d bought the upgrade, or else his scales would have rubbed painfully on his descent. The water was cold and sent a stabbing chill up his whole body as soon as his feet touched it. When he was half submerged, he let go of the rope and dropped backwards into the water. In the second before he went under the surface, he saw Ursula’s concerned expression, Astene’s blank one, and Masa trying to imitate their boss.

Once in the water, Kureeth could not hear the whistling. He blinked a few times to adjust to the light the quicksilver veins provided. Silence and dimness. He felt his breathing even out and his muscles relax. Weightlessness and peace reigned over his heart. He wished, not for the first time, that Falin could join him in this experience. He kicked down a few times, experimentally. The veins extended down the walls until his eyes could not pick them out anymore and their light could not reach him. He could not tell how far down the pit extended and its darkness chilled him more than the cold would ever be able to.

He turned slowly in the water and saw a long stone platform. A bridge, with mechanisms under it that allowed it to rise and provide a way across. He kicked his way to the surface. Shaking the water from his scales—mostly waterproof anyway—he swam quick strokes to the rope and began to haul himself up by his arms. He noticed, however, that he was ascending faster than even he would have managed.

As he crawled back onto the ledge, he found himself aided by both Ursula and Emelia. Relbray had returned, with both the mysterious Imperial mage who had cured Astene, along with a dark elf who Kureeth recognised as Brelyna Maryon. But what Kureeth was really looking at was the tight grip Masa had on their pickaxe, and the deep glare they were sending at Relbray.


	14. The Watchers of the Skull

Kureeth explained to them all, as he pulled off his sodden gloves, about the platform that would allow them to cross the gap.

“If we lowered the rope down to you,” said Astene, “could you swim over and use it to climb up over there?”

Kureeth looked over at the other ledge as he threw on his furs. A well-thrown loop of rope could catch around the base of that lever, though the weight it would gain from being dragged through the water might make it difficult.

“Wait,” said Brelyna. Green light escaped from both her hands and Kureeth remembered what Falin had told him about this mage’s more esoteric experiments. He was stepping back when she rose slightly from the ledge and levitated across the gap. While the others were watching her, Kureeth noticed Emelia was standing by with an orange light coiled in hand. This one Kureeth recognised as telekinesis: a safeguard to catch Brelyna if she were to fall.

But it was unnecessary. Brelyna alighted with ease on the opposite ledge, grinned at them, and pulled the lever. It was stiff, and for a moment Kureeth feared that it too would break, but then it clunked into position and the bridge began to rise. It fitted perfectly between the two ledges, water rushing off of it as it breached the surface, stone grinding on stone as its mechanisms whirled into action. It was only wide enough for two people to cross abreast. There were no railings.

Emelia scoffed. “Would it have killed the Nords to put basic safety precautions in their tombs?” she asked.

There was a pause. Both of the mages were mostly unaware of the tensions that existed between the miners. Kureeth tried to look at everybody at once. Masa coughed.

“Who’s going first?” they asked.

Nobody moved.

“You’re all pathetic,” said Emelia. She quickly moved across the bridge to join Brelyna on the other side. The Dunmer mage was already looking through the next door, casting a small floating light ahead of them.

Astene quickly followed, Relbray hurrying behind them. Though Kureeth stepped forward then, Masa made it to the bridge first. Kureeth hung back to fetch Astene’s sword. It was simple steel, but well-made and had seen some use. While he was occupied, Ursula started across, making Kureeth the last.

However, he did not have to go far to catch up, for everybody was bunched around the entrance to the next room. It was a wide hallway with upright sarcophagi lining its walls. Kureeth quickly counted a dozen. Every one of them was closed. Brelyna floated her magelight slightly further down, then rose it to the ceiling and extended its radiance. Kureeth could then see past the sarcophagi to the altar.

It was made of featureless grey stone—unlike the walls, ceiling, and floor, where the quicksilver veins had coalesced into patterns. Swirls and edges that Kureeth could not decipher. Beside the altar lay the body of Ingarth. A little further away lay his head. Just out of the reach of his dead hand was a carved black skull, struck with the same veins as the room, but finer, more detailed.

Behind the altar was a doorway barred by a grate. A circle of metal on a chain hung next to it, clearly meant to open the way. Through the grate was only darkness.

“We get any closer, they’re all going to open,” said Ursula in a loud whisper. There were some murmurs of agreement.

“Oh, so we’re just going to go back?” said Masa. “After all of this?”

“No,” said Astene, and Kureeth saw the satisfaction burst onto Masa’s face. The overseer had lied, he was sure, about not liking the mine boss. But whatever feeling existed in Masa now was not something Kureeth could call positive. He made a snap decision and handed Astene’s sword back to her, hilt first.

Astene looked surprised. “Oh,” she said. “I completely forgot. It was my mother’s, I’ve only—’

At that point Brelyna, a spell ready in each hand, trod quietly across the room. Emelia gave a soft curse and followed. Astene moved close behind the second mage, who gave her a glare at straying too close with the sword. Once they had reached the other side, Emelia stood examining the altar, while Brelyna peered through the grate. Astene crouched beside Ingarth’s body.

“It’s him alright,” she said, looking back to the doorway where Kureeth, Ursula, Masa, and Relbray still stood. “Something had no trouble in taking off her head.”

Afterwards, Kureeth would have trouble keeping track of everything that happened at once. He just took in as many flashes as he could and when explaining it to Falin later would find himself feeling sure that he’d missed something.

Astene started reaching for the carved skull. Relbray started crossing the room. Emelia dismissed one of her spells and grabbed Astene’s wrist.

“I wouldn’t,” said Emelia. “Might’ve been what got him.” She prodded Ingarth’s head with her boot.

Brelyna pulled the chain and the grate started to rise. The whistling, which Kureeth hadn’t noticed since he’d come up from the water, started again. Masa turned back and Kureeth saw them pull the lever. The bridge began to sink.

“What in Oblivion are you doing?” hissed Ursula. Masa ignored her and began to cross the room towards the altar. Astene stood with Emelia and Brelyna, trying to see what was beyond the grate, which had now risen halfway. Relbray reached the altar and extended a hand for the skull.

Masa, pickaxe rising, started running towards Relbray, as Emelia turned towards him and said, “No!”

The whistling pierced their ears so hard that Astene staggered. Ursula groaned and hunched and Kureeth pulled her upright. He chanced a look back and saw that the bridge was fully submerged. Masa staggered too, and fell, still metres from the altar. Only Relbray, his fingers now curled around the skull, and Emelia, summoning a spear of ice into her hand, seemed unaffected. Brelyna was leaning heavily on the doorway, which the grate had now almost fully cleared.

The veins grew brighter, so bright that many of them shielded their eyes. When the veins dimmed, Kureeth saw that Relbray was holding the skull aloft and staring at it with wide eyes. There were several cracking sounds.

“Oh, fuck,” said Ursula.

Only just out of sync, the lids of the twelve sarcophagi came loose and fell to the floor. Twelve armed draugr stepped forth into the room.


	15. Quicksilver

Silvery wisps came from the eyes of the draugr. Kureeth gritted his teeth against the whistling and took a step towards the nearest one. While he and Ursula were at one end of the room, and Astene, Relbray, Brelyna, and Emelia were at the other, Masa was trapped in the centre. Kureeth had a brief moment of relief that whatever this was, it would most likely never get above ground, thanks to the overseer’s self-interested lowering of the bridge.

Masa was trying to look in every direction as he rose from the floor. His pickaxe would do little good when matched against the ancient weapons of the draugr—but then Astene’s steel wouldn’t do much better.

Brelyna levelled a lightning bolt at Relbray, but it dissipated around him and seemed to redirect into the skull. Emelia threw her spear of ice at him, which had a similar non-effect. She raised her other hand, then disappeared. Kureeth, knowing what she was doing, had no time to keep track of the shimmer in the air that would mark her near-invisible passage.

“Fuck,” said Ursula. She stood upright and extended both hands outwards. A crackling energy began to form between them. “Everybody down!” she yelled.

Kureeth was the first to do so. Brelyna too, recognised what was about to happen. The others were slower but Ursula’s spell was directed enough that it didn’t matter. Lightning arced from her fingers to the two nearest draugr, splitting again and again until all of them were linked by the bolts, shaking and sizzling as the magic sawed its way through them.

Ursula exhaled and the spell ended. All twelve draugr collapsed into broken heaps. Apart from Masa being slightly singed, nobody else was injured. Astene, Masa, and Brelyna all looked at Ursula in shock. At that point Relbray spoke, still fixated on the skull.

“I can hear them,” he said. “I can hear the dead!”

Emelia appeared behind him and drove not a spike of ice but a glass dagger into the shoulder of his arm that held the skull. He screamed and the skull dropped from his fingers, rolling down the room towards Masa. The whistling dropped back to what Kureeth had come to consider background noise. Tolerable, by this point, and a blessing after what had come before.

“You just stabbed one of my workers!” said Astene.

Emelia was calmly wiping the blood off her blade. Relbray had slumped against the altar and was moving his lips silently. His eyes seemed to be looking at something none of the others could perceive. Astene crouched to examine his wound.

“Masa, give me a hand here,” she said. “We got to get out of here.”

Emelia looked across at Ursula. “And you’ve been hiding a mage.”

“I didn’t know about that!” said Astene. Masa looked at the skull for a moment, then crossed to stand on Relbray’s other side. Together they and Astene hauled Relbray upright.

“I didn’t know whether you’d take me,” said Ursula.

“Are you joking?” said Brelyna. “Vash is always looking for new students. Emelia and Falin are the first new ones we’ve had in years. You should come up, let us see what you can do.”

Emelia said, “So that was you send up that lightning bolt the other day.” When Ursula expressed surprise, Brelyna added, “Everybody at the College felt it if they didn’t see it.”

“They probably saw it halfway to Falkreath,” said Emelia.

“Vash would have tracked you down himself,” said Brelyna, “if he wasn’t running around on orc business.”

“What is orc business?” asked Emelia. “With that scary looking pair that showed up the other day?”

Brelyna shrugged. “Thought it best not to ask.” She looked over at Ursula. “Weird shit does go on a lot up at the College. You sort of get used to it.”

“Most of it’s just you,” snorted Emelia.

“You will enrol, won’t you?” asked Brelyna to Ursula.

Ursula looked at her hands. “I don’t know,” she said. “I came to Winterhold because of the College, but . . .”

She looked at Kureeth. He shrugged.

“It’s your decision,” he said.

“If it’s all the same to you,” said Astene, “I’d rather not lose any more workers.”

She and Masa were making slow progress across the room with Relbray. Kureeth took stock of everybody, then found himself looking at the now open doorway behind the altar, close to where Brelyna was standing, the grate now having fully risen.

Ursula must have been having similar thoughts, for she said, “Wait. The lids were all closed. What killed Ingarth?”

“Ah,” said Emelia. Kureeth started crossing the room to give the miners a hand. Brelyna ducked into the room behind the altar.

“Ah!” she said. She immediately exited and started running back across the room. Behind her came a draugr deathlord, its armour a dull silver to match the walls, its weapon an immense ebony greatsword. A weapon that would have easily been able to separate Ingarth’s head from his body.

Ursula stood her ground and levelled lightning at the new draugr. It let out a hollow groan but seemed otherwise unaffected. Emelia bathed it in ice to slow its steps. Kureeth hurried onto the ledge and pulled the lever. Its rising seemed to take much longer than last time.

“Go,” said Masa to Astene. “I’ve got him.”

Astene took a look at her overseer’s eyes, and started running. The bridge was still rising. They all piled onto the platform, Emelia and Brelyna still launching spells at the draugr to slow it. Kureeth saw that they didn’t have enough time. He also saw that the draugr was breathing in.

“Jump!” said Ursula. She did so immediately, to the right of the rising bridge, into the water. A clear landing, hopefully. Before she’d hit the surface, Kureeth was following. He grabbed whoever was nearest—Astene—and leapt from the ledge. The bridge had reached the surface and was halfway from there to its full height. Maybe high enough to drop to, Kureeth thought. As he fell towards the water, he saw the draugr unleash the power of a Shout.

“ _Fus-Ro-Dah!_ ” it exhaled.

Brelyna and Emelia both summoned wards to protect themselves and the still struggling forms of Masa and Relbray, but the impact was strong enough to send them all off the ledge anyway. The two mages had the good fortune to land in the water on the left side of the rising bridge, opposite to Kureeth.

It was then that Kureeth went under the surface. The frantic sounds of the fight vanished for a few seconds and he was accompanied only by his heartbeat as he kicked to the surface. From there he saw that Relbray and Masa had not been so lucky. The draugr’s Shout had blasted them onto the rising bridge. Not only had this dealt them an impact hard enough to break bones, but as the bridge finally hit its highest point with a crunch, it left them at the mercy of the advancing undead figure.

Ursula was already swimming for the other ledge, where the rope still hung down from Kureeth’s earlier expedition. He, after making sure that Astene had surfaced, kicked after her at a higher speed. He managed to reach the rope before Ursula, though she tried to shove him aside.

“What are you going to do?” she asked. “Punch it to death?”

He grunted and let her ascend before him, watching what was happening above. Emelia was kicking towards the rope as well. Brelyna had levitated out of the water to land behind the draugr on the bridge and was wreathing it in fire as it bore down on the prone Relbray and Masa.

For a moment the draugr looked as if it was going to turn back and deal with Brelyna first, but it kept striding towards the horizontal miners. It raised its sword and Masa shuffled back, half under the other dark elf, grunting in pain and leaving a trail of blood behind them, trying to drag Relbray along.

The draugr’s sword came down and split Relbray’s chest. The blade went right through him and into Masa’s leg, who screamed. Ursula reached the top of the rope and blasted lightning at the undead creature. Kureeth hurtled up the rope despite his sodden furs and found his pickaxe.

“Brelyna!” called Emelia, only halfway to the rope. “Levitate me!”

Brelyna understood immediately and abandoned her fiery assault on the draugr. Instead, green light escaped her hands and encircled Emelia, lifting the Imperial woman, streaming water, up to the level of the bridge. As she rose, the mage formed a long spear of ice with both hands.

“Ursula!” she called, still hovering there. “Give me a charge!”

Ursula frowned. Masa was still trying to extract themselves from under the corpse of Relbray. Astene was swimming towards the rope. Kureeth pushed past Ursula and headed for the draugr, pickaxe ready to swing.

“The spear!” shouted Emelia. “Charge it!”

Ursula finally understood. She sent a tentative bolt and Emelia moved her spear to catch it. She grinned wildly, the first time Kureeth had seen such an expression on her face. She nodded at Brelyna, who launched her at the draugr.

The creature’s sword rose to intercept the attack, but Kureeth dodged in and used the curved blade of the pickaxe to yank the sword down. The movement pulled Kureeth back almost on top of Masa. The draugr, refusing to release its weapon, almost fell, exposing its lesser-armoured back.

Emelia reached her target and drove the charged ice spear into the draugr’s back. The levitation spell held and Emelia floated above the bridge as the creature roared. Emelia lifted her legs up so her full weight was on the spear. Brelyna understood, and cancelled her spell.

The spear drove right through the draugr. It slumped onto its face, silent. Kureeth quickly stepped in and severed its head with his pickaxe. You could never be too careful.

He dropped the pickaxe and heaved Relbray off Masa. The overseer was bleeding heavily, their right leg almost severed. There was also blood coming from their head thanks to the fall onto the bridge. They breathed through their teeth and craned their neck at an awkward angle to look at Relbray.

“All this time spent trying to kill him and I get myself killed trying to save him,” they said.

Kureeth jolted. He hadn’t understood at all. Masa had been doing their job, as Astene’s second-in-command. They’d done their own investigation and found who’d planted the poison: Relbray. The murderous plot hadn’t been ready when Astene had taken the bread, but he’d run with it. Kureeth remembered the jitters he’d seen on Relbray while the bread was being eaten. Angrenor had just gotten in the way.

Kureeth felt sadness crawl into his bones. So much secrecy and stupidity for greed. And for love and respect, he remembered. Relbray had been trying to usurp his boss’ position but Masa, truly supportive of Astene, had been trying to halt those efforts. Masa looked into Kureeth’s eyes with fear.

“I understand,” said Kureeth. Masa’s expression gained some relief and their eyes closed.

“He’s not going to die,” said Emelia, coming over. Astene was still climbing the rope, Ursula giving her a hand onto the ledge.

Brelyna took a deep breath and gently levitated Masa up from the surface of the bridge.

“We’ll take him back to the College,” she said. Emelia walked alongside the floating Dunmer, her hands already composing spells over Masa’s wounds. Ursula stood back to let them past. Astene moved to follow, and Kureeth was too far away to tell the boss that she should wait, that he finally understood. After a few moments, Ursula and Kureeth were the only people left in that glowing chamber, deep under the snow.


	16. Crowded Past

Kureeth’s scales cringed away from his wet furs. He trod with Ursula back to the altar room. The twelve draugr still lay dead, the doorway behind the altar still lay open. The skull still lay in the centre of the room. Kureeth walked past it and examined the altar. There was a small depression in the stone where the skull must have rested, though he had an odd feeling that putting it back there wouldn’t stop the whistling that still lurked around the back of his awareness.

“You haven’t asked,” said Ursula.

Kureeth raised his eyebrows at her.

“About why I hid my magic,” she said.

Kureeth shrugged. “I meant what I said,” he said. “Past is past.”

Ursula looked around at the fallen undead and folded her arms. Her furs were sodden thanks to the unexpected swim and he expected that like him, now that the rush of the fight was wearing off, she was beginning to feel the chill. At least there was no wind.

“Have you heard about what’s been happening on Solstheim?” she asked.

Kureeth shook his head. He could point to the island on a map, but that was close to the extent of his knowledge.

“The housecarl,” said Ursula. “He said you fought with the Dragonborn? You . . . you know her?”

Kureeth nodded. Gylhain, her name was. He supposed he hadn’t spent that much time with her, yet that group of people—including his wife Falin and Vash the Archmage among others—remained strong in his mind. Everything Thonjolf had said about the battle at Helgen had been true, more or less.

He realised now why there had been something odd about Ursula, why she’d seemed out of place even though she was a Nord in Skyrim. She was from Solstheim. An ocean and a world apart. He wondered if he should have noticed an accent, or if she’d been disguising hers. He then leapt to the next conclusion: the Dragonborn was on Solstheim. Vanished after the battle at Helgen, not even those who’d known her longest seemed to know where she’d disappeared to. Kureeth supposed an island out at the far end of nowhere was a good place to vanish.

“She, uh,” Ursula was saying. “I made some bad choices. When the power starts whispering in your ears it’s . . . you can’t . . .”

“I know,” said Kureeth.

“No, you don’t,” said Ursula. “I worked for this . . . this madman. Called himself Miraak. Brainwashed me or something. Like I could tell I didn’t want to do what I was doing but I was doing it anyway. The Dragonborn, she killed him.” She pulled off her gloves and started wringing water out of them. “When I got my mind back I hoped there’d just be a blank bit in my memory. But I remember everything I did. That . . . we were trying to . . .”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” said Kureeth. Ursula looked to be about to protest, so he added, “If it helps to talk, I’ll listen. If it doesn’t, then leave it where it is.”

“The past?” she asked with a bitter smile. Kureeth nodded.

He looked around for a blunt object. The room was notably empty of treasure—apart from the quicksilver veins, he supposed. He heaved up one of the sarcophagi lids from where they’d dropped and the muscles in his arms bulged. He dragged it until it was positioned above the carved skull, lifted it high, then dropped the lid and jumped back.

He heard the crunch and saw pieces of the skull escape from under the side of the lid. The whistling heightened then, to the forefront of his mind, but not overwhelmingly so. From the place where the skull had cracked apart, a silvery mist rose through the sarcophagus lid. It hovered at head height and gradually formed into a humanoid shape. Kureeth thought he could see some similarities between it and the draugr deathlord that lay out on the bridge.

Ursula had a spell ready, but he gestured at her to lower it. She did, reluctantly. From beneath the stone floor rose two other figures of silvery mist, each taking a spot on either side of the first. With a sigh, the central figure dissipated and was gone. With it went the whistling.

Ursula worked her fingers around in her ears. “How long have we been hearing that?” she asked.

Kureeth watched as the remaining two figures looked at them for a moment. He felt a vague sense of gratitude, though he did not know where it came from. Then the two figures turned and walked slowly but gracefully around the altar and through the door behind it. Kureeth looked at Ursula, then followed.

The back room had been the victim of a cave-in. Apart from a crumbled seat where the deathlord must have sat, the rest of whatever else lay in the ruin was lost to a wall of rubble. The two figures of mist walked through it without hesitation and were gone. Kureeth watched the places where they’d disappeared, his earholes straining for more whistling, but there was nothing.

“What just happened?” asked Ursula.

Kureeth grunted. “Restless dead,” he said.

“Oh, so you’re a hero who goes round lifting curses in his spare time,” said Ursula. “Thonjolf was right, you’re wasted on this place.”

Kureeth smiled. “This is exactly the place that needs me,” he said.

* * *

 

It took them some time to get Relbray’s body up to the mine. They left it packed in snow to preserve it and set about drying their clothes off. The whistling wind now had a pleasing banality to it after the shredding sounds they’d experienced below.

“By the way,” said Ursula, in some of Angrenor’s old furs, aiding the drying with a tentative fire spell, “did we sort out who poisoned the bread?”

Kureeth, dressed only in a spare pair of thin trousers, pulled on the first of his successfully dry clothes: warmed boots. He wasn’t sure how to answer the question, really.

“It’s sorted,” he said. Nobody would be poisoning each other in Whistling Mine again, at least for now. He started rummaging around for some food. On a whim, he searched Relbray’s things and found the missing poisoned half-loaf, going bad despite the cold. He tossed it into the fire and kept looking for something else.

They were toasting some carrots when Astene entered the mine. Silently she came and crouched at the fire, warming her hands.

“Masa’s going to live,” she said eventually. “Wants to get back to work, if you can believe that.”

Kureeth could. He passed Astene some cold water and she drained the tankard in one gulp.

“Until he gets better,” she said, “and I can hire some new workers . . . I’d like you two to stay on and run things. I know you’ve both had better offers, but I’d be willing to pay you double.”

“I’ll do it,” said Ursula. She grinned at Kureeth, who rolled the idea around his head for a few seconds before nodding. Astene looked relieved.

It was at that point that Falin entered the mine, closely followed by Vash, the Archmage. Kureeth embraced his wife.

“Came as soon as I heard,” she said. “I go away for two days and look what happens. And why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“Sorry I missed it,” said Vash, smiling. “Whatever it was.”

Ursula was looking at him with some apprehension. He extended a hand towards her, which she shook.

“Look,” he said. “No pressure to join the College. Gods know we all have our own problems. But the offer stands, for whenever you’re ready.”

Astene stood. “I’ve got to get back,” she said.

“I’ll come with you,” said Vash. He pointed at Kureeth. “But I’ll be back. I want a guided tour, and I want to hear every word of what happened.” The Archmage and the mine owner exited the mine.

“So,” said Falin. “Turns out fancy nobles in Solitude pay big money for quality enchantments. Did so well, Sergius gave me a bigger cut.”

“Tell her about the double pay,” said Ursula.

“Double pay?” Falin asked. She bumped up against Kureeth. “Guess we better see about getting a house, now that we’re loaded with all this gold.” She looked up and around at the interior of the mine. “Does the wind always make that noise coming through here?”


End file.
